


Defective

by Secoura



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Drama, Family, Family Secrets, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Mystery, Past Abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-04
Updated: 2014-05-27
Packaged: 2017-11-18 00:24:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/554849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Secoura/pseuds/Secoura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every family has secrets, and the Holmes family is no exception.  John Watson learns about one of the skeletons in the closet, and with Moriarty's help, the rest of the skeletons are going to come out and dance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to Stonehaven

 

When John came home laden with grocery bags, he found Sherlock sitting on the sofa with his fingers tented in front of his face. "Don't mind me," he joked, knowing that Sherlock wouldn't.

"John, how do you feel about Scotland?"

There was a small clear space on the kitchen table so he sat the bags down. "Scotland?"

"Yes, John, Scotland." Sherlock got up and came over, rummaging through the bags.

"Why? Does this have something to do with a case?"

"What? No, it's not...well, I suppose it could be but no, it's nothing to do with a case. I need to go to Scotland. I was hoping you would come with me. I would be lost without my blogger." He flashed John a big grin, causing the doctor to lean against the fridge and cross his arms. "What?" he asked, this time his face betraying his confusion. "You don't have to come, I just thought you might like to get away from London, a sort of holiday."

"A holiday? While I was at the store you decided you want a holiday?"

"Do you want to go or not?" Sherlock asked, slightly impatient.

"It's not like I have a job to worry about so sure, I guess we can go."

"Good. We can leave tonight. I took the liberty of packing you a bag."

"You...Sherlock, you can't just go through my things like that. And you shouldn't have assumed I was going to agree to this!" John spotted his case by the sofa and picked it up. "I'll pack my own bag, thank you." Pausing on his way to his room, he asked, "How long are we going to be in Scotland?"

"I've no idea."

"Then how am I supposed to pack?"

"You know, John," Sherlock said, now sounding like he was speaking to a rather slow child, "they do have shops in Scotland. If you promise to play nicely with the chip-and-pin machine, I'm sure you can get anything you might need while we're there."

"You are never going to let that go, are you?"

"You're the one that came home and announced that you had a row with the machine." Glancing at his watch, Sherlock smiled. "If we leave tonight we can make it to Aberdeen by morning, then rent a car and head to Stonehaven."

"Stonehaven?"

"Yes, of course, that's where we're going."

"Why there?" John asked.

"Why not? It's a beautiful coastal town."

"What is this trip really about?"

Sherlock sighed and sat limply on the sofa. "There's someone that I need to visit."

"Ok." John leaned against the wall. "And this someone would be..?"

"I thought you would like to know that there is one member of my family that is capable of emotions."

"Really?" John pursed his lips, curious.

"It would seem that in the Holmes DNA, it is the Y chromosome that robs one of feelings."

John pondered this statement for a moment before he ventured a guess. "Your mother? You're going to see your mother? In Scotland?"

"No, not my mother."

"Sister?"

"Obviously."

"You have a sister? A sister that you never mentioned. And please, Sherlock, don't tell me that you deleted her like you did the solar system."

"Of course not. If I could delete siblings I would have deleted Mycroft ages ago."

"So you have a sister in Scotland. Why Scotland?"

"Because Mycroft hates Scotland. So, are you coming with me or not? Because the train leaves in an hour."

"Does this sister even know that you're coming to see her?"

"Well if she knew then Mycroft would know."

"So she doesn't know."

"It's fine, John."

"My case feels rather light. What did you pack, anyway?"

"We should get going. I can tell you more about her during the train ride, and whatever you need that I didn't pack you can pick up in Aberdeen."

* * *

They had a compartment to themselves and once they were settled John leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. "I can't believe you've got a sister that you've never mentioned. After all that I've told you about Harry, you never once said that you had a sister."

"Perhaps you should get some sleep. It will be several hours before we reach Aberdeen."

"Oh no you don't." John opened one eye to look at Sherlock. "I don't have to look at you to listen to you."

"And you won't remember what I say if you fall asleep in the middle of it. You're obviously tired."

"And when are you going to sleep?"

"When we get there. Stonehaven."

"I hope that's not the first thing you're planning on doing when you darken her doorstep. What's her name anyway, this sister of yours?"

"Jocelyn. Her name is Jocelyn and no, I'm not planning on just collapsing on her sofa if that's what you were thinking."

"Well that's a relief. So tell me about her."

With a soft sigh Sherlock leaned back on his own seat opposite John. "She was three years younger than me. My earliest memories are of Mycroft looking proud and Jocelyn crying."

"He picked on her then."

"Oh John, he didn't just pick on her. He was incredibly cruel to her. Constantly told her that she was defective and that defective things belong in the garbage." Sherlock tented his fingers and closed his eyes as thought it was an effort to recall those memories. "Our parents were never around and they expected Mycroft to look after her, so naturally he was resentful. I honestly believe that making her cry was his one true enjoyment."

"I think that's a normal phase for all siblings to go through, Sherlock."

"We weren't normal children though. I was used to Mycroft being cold and distant and emotionless but Jocelyn...she was much too emotional." Those pale eyes opened again and he looked out the window though it was dark and nothing could be seen. "That's why I don't care about the people, John. Caring about her didn't help me to save her."

"Save her?" Now John's eyes were open wide, his mouth slightly agape as he thought about what Sherlock had said earlier. "Sherlock, is she...still alive?"

"That's a stupid question even for you. Why would I be going to visit a dead person?" Sherlock snapped.

"This from a man who has long conversations with an empty flat."

"Only because Mrs. Hudson took my skull away." He smiled a bit, his eyes softening when he looked again at John. "Anyway, she's very much alive, I can assure you."

"Ok, good. Alive is very good. So did the two of you get along?"

"Our childhood really doesn't make for good bedtime stories, John."

Nodding, John leaned back again on his seat. "So does Mycroft interfere in her life the way he interferes in yours?"

"Not that I'm aware of. We should both try to get some sleep now so we're alert when we get to Aberdeen."

"And thus ends the conversation," John mumbled as his eyes slid closed. "Goodnight, Sherlock."

* * *

"Are you all right?" Sherlock asked as they made their way from the train station.

"Yeah, fine, just don't ever suggest I sleep on a train again," John replied, trying to work a kink out of his neck.

"Don't worry, seeing you drool all over yourself once was enough; I've no desire to see you do it again."

"What? Sherlock, I...I didn't drool all over myself." Still, he wiped at his chin and looked down at his jumper just to be sure.

"Come on, the rental car company is just a block away."

"You enjoy messing with me, don't you?"

"You do provide me with a constant source of entertainment."

* * *

Forty minutes later they pulled up in front of a large stone house. "Your sister lives here?"

"Obviously." Sherlock got out of the car and ventured up the steps to the front door.

"Wow. I mean, seriously. This place is huge. Has she got a family?"

"No, unfortunately." He pressed the buzzer and then turned to John who was directly behind him. "You don't have to hide behind me, John. It's unlikely that she's going to shoot at us."

"I'm not hiding!"

"Of course not. You wanted to jump out and yell 'surprise' when she opens the door."

"Does that mean I should close the door and open it again so I can act surprised?"

Sherlock turned back at the sound of a female voice. "Hello Jocelyn," he said. "How long has it been?"

She smiled and leaned against the door frame. "I could tell you down to the minutes but you already know the answer. Now get in here, the both of you."

"This is Dr John Watson," Sherlock said, indicating the man behind him. "John, obviously you know who this is."

"It's nice to meet you," she said, shaking his hand. "I love your blog."

"You read my blog?"

"Yes, of course. Well, come inside. I doubt you came all the way from London just to chat on the porch."

* * *

The living room was big but sparsely furnished, with a large fireplace and a sectional sofa. Beyond the sofa was a kitchen and a staircase that led to the upper floors. "Can I get you some tea or coffee?" she offered, motioning for Sherlock and John to sit on the sofa.

Sherlock leaned back on the sofa and closed his eyes. "Tea would be lovely, thanks."

"Dr Watson?"

"John, please, and tea will be fine. Thank you."

She disappeared into the kitchen and John turned to Sherlock. "I thought she'd be a lot more curious about why we're here and how long we're staying for," he said softly.

"How long we stay is irrelevant for her. She'll welcome us for as long as we are here."

"Isn't that rather rude? You can't just assume that people will put you up, even if she is your sister."

"Actually, he can. I've always told him he's welcome here anytime, for as long as he likes," Jocelyn said, returning two steaming mugs. "Are you hungry? I can fix you something-"

"We're fine," Sherlock said. "I need to talk to you."

"So I gathered." She sat beside him and leaned back with a sigh. "Go ahead then, talk and get it over with."

He looked confused and sightly hurt. "Have I done something wrong?" he asked, glancing at John and then back to her.

"No. Please, just tell me what it is you came here to tell me."

"Are you going to then kick us out?"

"What? No, Sherlock, I'm...god, I'm not going to kick you out. You can stay as long as you like. I just...I wish I didn't feel like you only call or visit when you want something from me."

"That's not true, I've called plenty of times without asking you for a single thing."

"When?"

"I called you last month."

"To ask if I could get you a sheep's head."

"Sheep is the national dinner, isn't it? I figured you would just throw it away so..."

"Have you  _ever_  known me to eat sheep?"

"It's not as though I spend 24 hours a day with you. How would I know what your eating habits are? And the last time I came to visit, I didn't ask you for anything."

"You were high on cocaine and hiding from Mycroft."

"But I didn't ask you for anything," he said softly, sinking further into the sofa cushions.

"And suddenly your relationship with your sister seems downright normal, doesn't it?" she asked John.

"How do  _you_  know about my sister?"

"Sherlock told me all about you and Harry the night he met you. He likes to text."

"I've noticed."

"Hey," Jocelyn said after a moment, reaching over and grabbing Sherlock's hand in her own. "Whatever has brought you here, I'm glad for it. I really have missed you. Now tell me what's wrong."

"I got bored." He looked at his hand as though he was surprised by her gesture. "I was drawn into a game by a dangerous man, and I was foolish. I didn't think about the consequences and now people have died."

"What do you need?"

"To figure out how this ends. Jos, I...I think it's someone you know."

"Me? Just because I was in a mental hospital doesn't mean I know every nutcase in the world."

"You were in a mental hospital?" John asked. "You don't..." He stopped and looked down, embarrassed.

"I don't look crazy?"

"Sorry, that was...definitely not good."

"Oh it's all right. I'm not crazy and yes, I was in a mental hospital thanks to Mycroft. It's a long story and ends with me getting this lovely property so I'd say it all worked out."

"You never should have been there to begin with," Sherlock growled.

"What makes you think that this...friend...of yours knows me, or that I know him?"

"I'll burn the very heart out of you."

"What?" she asked, her eyes getting wider.

"That is what he said to me when he had John decked out in Semtex.  _I'll burn the very heart out of you._ "

"Sounds more like someone who knows Mycroft."

"I doubt Mycroft would have told anyone."

"Will one of you please tell me what that sentence even means?" John demanded.

"When I was committed, I told Mycroft that when I got out I would burn the very heart out of him, assuming he had one," Jocelyn answered. "It doesn't make sense for someone that knows me to be playing games with you, though."

"Just try to think, was there anyone at the hospital that behaved strangely?"

"It was a mental hospital, Sherlock. Everyone behaved strangely. It was sort of a requirement for getting sent there."

John snickered and Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You know what I meant."

"It was years ago."

"Does the name Moriarty mean anything to you?"

"I don't know. Maybe. It's not a time in my life that I really tried to remember." She stood up and headed towards the stairs. "Where are your cases?"

"Cases? No, god no, Sherlock, this was supposed to be a holiday, " John said.

"She means our suitcases, obviously. They're in the car."

"And shall I have the butler fetch them for you or can you manage that on your own?"

Sherlock held up the car keys and John shook his head in disbelief. "You really don't expect-"

Quickly the keys were shoved back into his pocket. "Of course not. Jocelyn doesn't have a butler, if she did she'd also have a maid. This place hasn't been dusted in a while so no maid, therefore no butler."

"Growing up in the Holmes household taught me that butlers are rude and pretentious and I've already got you so a butler would be rather redundant."

"I am not pretentious. I doubt you even know what the word means."

"Ok, Sherlock, you are not starting a fight with your sister before we've even unpacked," John said quietly. "Give me the keys and I'll go and get our bags."

"No, Jocelyn wouldn't easily forgive that. I'll get our bags and she can show you where your room is. I assume, dear sister, that I'll have my usual room?"

"Oh don't even start that 'dear sister' crap or I'll let you sleep in the car."

He leaned over and kissed her cheek. "I have missed you so," he said, smiling warmly at her.

"You go fetch your bags and I'll keep Dr Watson company."

"It's John, please."

"Yes, so you said."

"Play nicely Jos," Sherlock said, his voice and the slight smirk of his lips causing John to look worried.

"Always," she replied before turning her attention back to John. "Would you like to see your room?"

"Sure." He watched his friend headed towards the door as Jocelyn stood up.

"Don't worry, I don't bite. Well, not anymore. Apparently biting is bad."

"She's just teasing you!" Sherlock called to him with a laugh before pushing the door open to go outside.

"He's right, I am just teasing. Come on, I'll show you around."

John followed her up the stairs and she pointed to the first door off the landing. "That's just used for storage, so if you need towels or linens you can find them in there. Feel free to help yourself."

"Why do you live in such a big house all by yourself?"

"Sherlock didn't tell you much, did he?" She continued down the hallway as she talked.

"No."

Jocelyn stopped and turned back. "This was our grandparents house. We used to come here for holidays. After our parents left and Mycroft controlled all the assets, I demanded this house in exchange for doing something he wanted."

"I'd hate to think what that was."

"Now that is a story that I'll have to tell you when you don't look like you're going to fall asleep holding the wall up."

John seemed surprised to find that he had been leaning against the wall and he quickly straightened up and moved away. "I'm fine."

"It's not like the wall was complaining, mind you. Your room is this one," she indicated by opening the door of the second room from the end of the hall. "Sherlock's room is at the very end of the hall."

"What does he feel so guilty about?" John blurted out. This was followed immediately by an apology as he looked at her with wide eyes. "I am so sorry, I didn't mean -"

"It's all right, John. He does feel guilty, despite my repeated assurances to him that there's nothing for him to feel guilty about."

"You and he get on ok?"

"Yes, of course we do. He is my brother and I love him. We both suffered, but he's decided that he should have saved me."

"From Mycroft?"

She nodded. "And from myself. Sherlock isn't as detached from his emotions as he would like the world to believe."

"So I've noticed."

"I know the two of you are talking about me up there. I'll give you 90 seconds to wrap the conversation up before I come up the stairs," Sherlock announced as the door banged shut behind him.

"We can talk more later. You two need to get settled and maybe get some rest, and I need to go to the grocery store."

"I should go through my bag and see what Sherlock packed."

"It's a quick ride into town if there's anything you need."

"Thanks. And thanks for putting me up."

"Sherlock has never brought anyone else here. You must be very special to him."

"We're not...I'm not gay."

"I wasn't aware we were discussing your sexual preferences."

"I'm coming up now," Sherlock called as they heard his footsteps on the stairs.

"It has not been 90 seconds," Jocelyn said.

"I was getting bored." He appeared at the top of the stairs and regarded them for a moment. "So, John, learn anything interesting about me from my sister?"

"Yes, I did."

When John offered nothing further, Sherlock tilted his head and looked at them both suspiciously. "What?"

"Is that my case?" John grabbed his from where Sherlock had set it on the landing. "I'm going to unpack and make a list of things that I need to pick up in town. Then maybe I'll catch a nap. I'll talk to you both later."

"So, what did you two talk about?" Sherlock asked as John went into his room.

"Nothing, really. I think he's worried about you. I'm going to the store, so what do you want for dinner?"

"So you're not going to tell me?"

"Are you worried?"

"Not at all. Just curious."

"Good. I think I'll fix pasta for dinner. Maybe a nice pesto. Is there anything you want me to pick up?"

"I can see the silly game you're trying to play, and I won't fall for it."

"By having pasta for dinner?"

"Oh don't play stupid. You know very well what I'm referring to."

She smiled in response. "I'm really glad you're here."

"Only because you have someone to torment." He pouted a bit, making her laugh.

"I'll be back in an hour or so. Try not to destroy anything before I return?"

She was out the door when his phone chirped. He looked at the message on the screen and frowned.

_And how is our dear sister? -M_

_How would I know?_

_I assume that you're with her since two tickets to Aberdeen were purchased in your name. Or did you and Dr Watson get a craving for haggis? -M_

_She's fine. I'm fine. It's all fine. Back off._

After sending the last message, Sherlock went into his room and tossed the phone down on the desk. It chimed again but he ignored it, instead flopping down on the bed. After a few seconds he got back up and saw the handwritten list that was tacked on the door.

  
_**No storing experiments in the refrigerator.** _   
_**No discharging firearms in the house.** _   
_**No performing experiments in the kitchen.** _   
_**No storing experiments in the refrigerator.** _   
_**No flammables in the house.** _   
_**No storing experiments in the refrigerator.** _   
_**No experimenting on the neighbors' livestock.** _   
_**NO STORING EXPERIMENTS IN THE REFRIGERATOR** _   


"What am I supposed to  _do_?" he groaned, throwing himself back onto the bed.


	2. You're Fine, How Am I?

Jocelyn returned with groceries and went straight to the kitchen. After putting things away she opened a cabinet to get a pot out and then shrieked as Sherlock stared back at her. He was curled up in the space that should have held her pots and pans, and then she looked to see that her pots and pans were stacked in the corner of the kitchen. "What in the hell are you doing?"

"Bored."

"Probably because you're in my cupboard."

"I was doing an experiment."

"Did you not read the rules?"

"I'm in the cupboard, not the kitchen."

"The cupboard is part of the kitchen, Sherlock."

"Fine." He extracted himself, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Why are you really here?"

"You know why I'm here."

"No, I don't. I'm not a genius like you are." She turned away from him and closed her eyes. "I'm just...defective like Mycroft always said I was."

He frowned and grabbed her arm, pulling her to face him. "Jocelyn, what happened?"

"You don't feel anything for me. You never have. I always looked up to you as my big brother, the one who would protect me and take care of me, but all I was to you was...hell, I don't even know what I was to you. Your own nutcase to experiment with, I suppose. A means to justify your stance that emotions are a defect. If anyone wonders why the great Sherlock Holmes is detached and uncaring, all you have to do is point to your mentally defective sister."

"Jocelyn, you know that isn't true. I tried to help you, I tried to -"

"Please, just...stop. Just stop this."

"Stop what? Jos, what happened while you were gone?"

"I don't know. I was so happy to see you here and now...I don't know what's wrong with me."

She started to cry and Sherlock pulled her to him, hugging her tightly. "It's ok. It's going to be ok now. You are not defective and I don't ever want to hear you refer to yourself as that again. I do love you, Jos. You are my sister and I will always love you and protect you to the best of my ability."

"And what happens when you can't?" she whispered, clutching at his shirt with her fingers.

"Never happen." He rested the top of his head on hers. "Did something happen while you were gone?"

"I...I remember someone. From the hospital. Multiple personalities."

"Tell me."

"He was smart, and very nice, very personable. The personalities, anyway. Well, most of them. I don't know if I ever met the actual  _person_  but...the only way to really know when a different personality came out was that...his accent changed."

"His accent?"

"Sometimes he sounded like he had a bit of the Irish, but then a second later he'd sound American. When I first met him I didn't know about the personalities and when I asked about the accents he said that he was changeable and laughed."

"Changeable?" Sherlock's eyes widened slightly at that word.

"Yeah, used to say that a lot when he would suddenly reverse course."

"Do you know his name?"

"One of his personalities was Sebastian. Nasty, that one. Mean. Cruel. I didn't like him at all. Didn't see much of him until the end. Usually it was Jim. Jim was sweet. Nice, shy, awkward -"

"Gay?" Sherlock interrupted.

"Gay? Why in the hell would you think he was gay just because I thought he was nice?"

"No, no that's not it. I don't assume that all of your male friends are gay. But I think I've met 'Jim' before."

"Which of my male friends do you think is gay?"

"That's not what we need to discuss, Jos."

"I feel it needs to be discussed. Is that why Ian broke up with me, because he's gay? Did you let me date a guy who is gay and not tell me?"

"No. Now can we please get back to the topic at hand?"

"I thought the topic was whether or not all of my male friends are gay."

"Jim was pretending to be gay."

"Well that doesn't make sense, why would a guy pretend to be gay unless...oh." She pulled further away from him, walking out of the kitchen and curling up on the sofa, hugging her knees to her chest.

"Jocelyn?" he asked, coming around to sit next to her. "What's going through that brain of yours?"

"Nothing."

Sherlock snorted. "Even John wouldn't believe that."

"He used to play chess by himself. Played as both players, only a different personality played each side. I never really knew them. I called them White and Black since I didn't have names for them. White was nice. Not nice like Jim. Jim was funny and White was always serious. He was always calm and controlled, even tried to teach me how to play chess."

"And Black?"

"He was cold. Calculating. Like you, only...he liked hurting things."

"What happened when you went to the store? Something triggered this. Please, trust me and tell me what happened."

She took a deep breath as though building up the nerve to confess. "When I came out of the store, I found a chess piece sitting on the driver's seat. It was the black queen. At first I thought it was some strange prank and then...I started remembering  _him_ and what it was like there. What I was like then. I don't like to remember that but I couldn't stop it, all these things and thoughts and memories were just rushing through my head and I thought I could push it aside but I can't. I thought I was better but what if I'm not?"

"You listen to me," he said firmly, putting his hands on her shoulders. "There is nothing wrong with you. Someone is playing a game but it is a game that we are going to win. Now what did you eat or drink from the time you left here until you returned?"

"What? I...nothing. No, I didn't, I just...why?"

"Your pupils are dilated, your temperature is elevated, your heart rate has dramatically increased and you've developed a slight tremor. You've been drugged."

"No. No no no. I would have noticed if someone drugged me. I'm not stupid."

"This has nothing to do with being stupid." He held her face in his hands so he could better look at her eyes. "Tell me everything that happened from the moment you walked out the door until you found me in the cupboard."

"Piss off."

"Jos, please." Sherlock looked towards the living room and saw John standing near the entrance to the kitchen. "I'm just worried about you. I know that you have been drugged, your blown pupils and your racing pulse tell me that. You should lie down before you pass out."

"I'm not going to pass out. I'm just...I'm fine." Her eyes were getting heavy, though, and she leaned into her brother's waiting arms.

"It's all right. I won't ever let you fall," he whispered.

"What's going on?" John asked, confused.

"Not now John," he replied as he tried to get her to lie on the sofa.

"I don't need your help," she said, pushing him away and landing on the floor herself.

"Ok, that's enough," John said. He knelt down next to her and turned her face so he could take a better look at her. "Sherlock's right, you should lie down. You're not well."

"It's just the flu or something. I'll be fine."

"And you'll be more comfortable if you lie on the sofa."

"Maybe I like the floor. At least I occasionally vacuum," she said, tossing an irritated look at Sherlock. "Don't you judge me and my house."

"Ok, now you really have gone off the deep end," Sherlock said. "Come on, up you go." He got his arms under hers and hauled her to her feet, ignoring John's protests that he really shouldn't be handling her like that.

"I don't want to hear one word out of you if she throws up on you," the doctor said, one final protest before he finally moved aside and let Sherlock lay her on the sofa.

"I think she's unconscious," he said, barely more than a whisper, as he laid her down. Then, a little bit stronger, he added. "I need to figure out how she was drugged and with what. I'll start with her car. Will you...stay with her? Please?"

"Are you sure that's a good idea? If someone did drug her, you'll be next on the list of targets."

"So what do you suggest?"

"Call Lestrade. Maybe he can call the local force, get someone out here to investigate."

Sherlock snorted at that idea. "If this is Moriarty's doing then the police will be even more useless than they are against ordinary criminals. Besides, if I call Lestrade, he'll notify the local police and they're just as likely to make her to go the hospital, which she will refuse. They'll conclude that no crime was committed and we'll have wasted valuable time."

"So what do we do?"

"I need to check that car, and to retrace her steps. This is a puzzle, John, and I can't solve it if I don't even have the pieces to work with!"

"Why don't the both of you go out there and leave me in peace?" Jocelyn said before turning to face the back of the sofa.

While Sherlock wandered outside, John came a bit closer to the sofa. "How are you feeling?"

"I just want to sleep."

"Any pain, difficulty breathing, fever...?"

"For the love of god just leave me alone," she said, her voice muffled by the sofa cushions.

"You're definitely related to him," John said. It surprised him when she turned over to face him.

"Sorry, really," she said, eyes downcast before finally looking up at him. "I just want to curl up in a ball and either die or sleep until I no longer feel like this."

"I am a doctor, you know, so tell me what's wrong and maybe I can help you."

"I feel dizzy, and my chest hurts."

That had John instantly kneeling next to the sofa, his hand pressed against her neck to feel her pulse. "Does it hurt to breath?"

"No, it just hurts in general."

"We need to get you to a hospital. I..."  _...gave my phone to Sherlock._  "Where's your phone?"

"No. No ambulance and no hospital. If I was drugged then it will wear off."

"Unless you die of an overdose first."

"Never happen. I'm a Holmes, we're too stubborn to die. Just ask my brothers."

"I've heard that before." John's voice was softer, his eyes unfocused as his mind turned to the soldiers that had died on the operating table. Every one of them had thought they were too stubborn to die, and John had been the one left with the dead body to prove them wrong.

"Hey."

Her voice broke him out of his revery and he felt her hand lightly rubbing his arm. "Sorry," he mumbled, looking out a window.

"I am not going to die but if it makes you feel better, I'll be a good patient and let you take care of me."

"That would be very un-Holmes-like behavior."

"I can't win with you either way, can I?"

Ignoring her question, he said he would get her some water before standing and going to the kitchen. Sherlock, he noticed, was on the porch, watching him with interest while talking to someone on the phone. John couldn't make out what was being said and, he soon realized, he had no idea where anything was in the kitchen. Cautiously he started opening cabinet doors until he found some glasses, filled one with water from the sink and then returned to the sofa.

"Still think I'm not crazy?" she asked when he handed her the glass.

"Yes, I still think you're not crazy but I would love to hear why and how Mycroft got you committed."

"Jos, you should lie down in your room and sleep off whatever it is," Sherlock said, coming back inside.

"I can sleep just fine right here."

"I will feel better if you're upstairs safely tucked into your own bed." Sherlock gave her his best 'sad' face, the one that had convinced John to shut up and drink his coffee with sugar and pretend he enjoyed it at Dartmoor.

She huffed but let him help her to her feet. "Fine, I'll go to bed. But if anything exciting happens you better videotape it. I'm tired of missing all the good stuff." As she started towards the stairs she had trouble going in a straight line and after giving Sherlock an irritated look, John came to her aid.

"Can't have you breaking your neck before something fun happens," he said as his arms came around her from behind, steadying her before she tried to maneuver the stairs.

"What the hell did they give me, Sherlock?" There was an edge of fear to her voice.

"Could be any number of things. We can take you to the hospital-"

"No," she said sharply. "No hospitals."

"Sleep it off then," Sherlock said, surprising John with his bluntness. "What?" he asked when he saw the face John was making at him. "If she doesn't want to go to the hospital then there's not much else we can do."

"I'm ok," Jocelyn said, grabbing onto the railing to pull herself up the stairs. "You can let go now, John."

"Right." He removed his hands but stayed behind her in case she tumbled backwards.

"But why would anyone want to drug me? This in no way benefits anyone since I made it safely back home."

"Perhaps it didn't turn out as planned, or it was intended to do just what it did – make you remember things your conscious mind had tried to lock away."

"She did get all the way back home, though," John said. "Could she really have been drugged while she was out yet it didn't affect her until well after she got home?"

"Of course," Sherlock said, grinning slightly. "You always did have a weakness for them," he told Jocelyn before turning to go into the kitchen.

"No, they're mine!" she said, the tone of her voice apparently surprising John as he took a step back from her as she turned to face her brother.

"You wouldn't bring them into the house so the package must still be in the car." Sherlock looked practically gleeful as he rushed to the door.

"Well, go on. Go search the car," she said, taunting and holding onto the staircase as though she would fall over without its support.

"What are you you two going on about?" John asked, confused.

"Investigating, John!" Sherlock shouted as he went out the door.

"He's going to steal my cookies," Jocelyn said, sounding like she was going to cry.

"Cookies? How did this become about cookies?"

"It's not my fault."

"Ok, you are making no sense right now so let's get you into bed and then I'll stop Sherlock from stealing your cookies."

"Really?"

He chuckled as he guided her to head back up the stairs. "Really."

Once they reached her room she sat on the bed and looked up at him. "He can have the cookies. I don't want to be like Mycroft."

"I don't think anyone could be like Mycroft," John assured her. "You lie down and sleep."

"He loves you, you know. Sherlock."

"What?"

"Please, the two of you are made for each other." She yawned and curled up on top of the covers. "It's not about sex, John, it's about knowing and trusting and caring about each other. Loving your friend doesn't make you gay."

He was about to say something else when he realized she had fallen asleep. "I suppose I do love him then," he whispered, smiling slightly before going to see what Sherlock had gotten into. It had been far too quiet since Sherlock had disappeared outside.

* * *

Sherlock had removed most of the contents from his sister's vehicle, though John was more interested in the inferno-red vehicle itself than in the mess Sherlock was creating.

"A Dodge Nitro, huh? I suppose one of you had to drive something semi-wild," John said.

"What? Oh, yes, her choice of vehicle does leave something to be desired but it is reliable transportation and she seems to like it."

"Sherlock, what are you looking for?"

"No idea. Some kind of sweet." Glancing at John and seeing the confused look on his friend's face, he gave a quick smile. "It's yet another entry in the saga of Mycroft and his diets."

"Why do you always ask him about his diet? Your brother hardly needs to lose weight."

"My brother always needs to lose weight because he's always eating sweets and gaining back the weight he's lost. When we were children he was horribly overweight."

"And this aversion you have to eating wouldn't stem from his weight problems, would it?"

"If I want an analyst I'll go through my sister's phone book."

"It's becoming rather obvious now. When he was overweight, it was the one thing that let you feel superior to him. Now that he's lost the weight you have to constantly remind him because god forbid you lost that one thing you can hold over him."

"John..."

"You know when I was upstairs with your sister, she said that you were going to steal her cookies. Then she said to let you have them because she didn't want to be like Mycroft."

"And her drug induced ramblings inspired you to try and figure out my motivations?"

"So have you found any cookies?"

"No, but she must have bought them if she said she thought I was going to steal them." Sherlock was still for a few moments, then said, "Let's go back inside. I should explain what she said."

"You don't need to do that, Sherlock."

"I want to. I know that she didn't even realize what she was saying but...she's my sister and I have to protect her, even if it's just to help you understand what Mycroft did to her."

* * *

"I believe Mycroft's childhood ended when he was seven and I was born," Sherlock said, staring at the cup of tea that he was holding. He and John were sitting on the sectional, the television babbling in the background. "The only parent I knew was Mycroft. He helped me get dressed, saw that I bathed and got me to bed, and saw that I made it to school and did my homework. Our parents were  _personna non grata_  and all that responsibility was put on Mycroft's shoulders.

"When I was around eight, our parents suddenly seemed to remember that they had children and they started paying attention to us. They would give Jocelyn and I sweets from the different places they visited while they were traveling, but Mycroft wasn't given any. Our mother could be quite cruel and had no problem telling Mycroft that he was too fat and soft."

"So he stole the sweets from you and Jocelyn?"

"Mostly from her. It was easy to steal from a five year old, especially since he was fifteen. I started to steal them from her before he could." He sighed and sat his cup of tea down on the table.

"You stopped Mycroft from stealing her candy by stealing it from her first?"

"I was only a child myself, with a limited base of experience to draw from."

"Hmm. So what happened to all the sweets you stole from her?"

"Mycroft figured out what was going on, it was hardly difficult. So after I stole the candy from Jocelyn, Mycroft stole the candy from me."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Why did Mycroft have her sent to a mental hospital?"

"She was...wild. Mycroft was afraid that her behavior would cost him his precious position in the British government so he had her committed. Locked away, she was no threat to him."

"So why let her out?"

"Mycroft wasn't so good at covering his trail back then. One of his rivals figured out what happened to the youngest of the Holmes siblings and threatened to go to the media with the whole thing. Mycroft drew up all the papers to have her released and this time covered his tracks well enough that there was no evidence she had ever been in hospital. Jocelyn, though, she had a clever moment. Refused to leave the hospital and instead voluntarily committed herself. If he wanted to salvage his career and his public image, he had to meet her terms so she would leave."

"It's still disturbing to know that he can have people sanctioned at will."

"To be honest," Jocelyn's voice came to them from the staircase behind, "the system didn't just willingly lock away a perfectly healthy young woman, no matter how badly Sherlock wants to believe that there was no reason for me to be there."

"Jocelyn," Sherlock said, his voice low and smooth, a tone that John had only heard him use with Molly when he wanted her to stop talking.

"Anyway, I came down here to get something for my headache. You two carry on."

"You get back up to bed," Sherlock said, standing. "I'll bring you up some water and Codis."

"I have that?"

"To bed. Now."

"Ok." She turned and headed back up the stairs while Sherlock went to the kitchen, opening cupboards until he found a plastic pitcher and some clean glasses.

"You ok?" John asked, following Sherlock to the kitchen.

"Yes, fine. Whatever drug she was given is wearing off and the least I can do is try to make her comfortable."

"So you're not ok. You're feeling guilty. Again."

"Since I assume you went to medical school at some point, can you perhaps offer some suggestions on what I should do for her or are you just going to offer commentary?"

"We don't know what drug she was given. Shouldn't you be working on figuring that out? How she was drugged and with what?"

"I already know."

"You...what do you mean...never mind, of course you know. When you're ready to let me know, you come get me."

"It's an experimental drug from Baskerville."

John had started for the door but turned back around, pointing his finger as he went towards Sherlock instead. "You've known all along, haven't you? You knew when we came here that this was going to happen."

"I suspected it, yes."

"She's your sister and you just stood back and waited for her to be drugged. Jesus, Sherlock, she's your  _sister_. Do you not care at all about what happens to her?"

"Of course I do. I'm not psychic. Dr. Stapleton informed me that 3 milliliters of an experimental drug went missing a bit over a week ago. The vial that contained it was sealed in a container that had a radioactive isotope for tracking. It arrived in Stonehaven two days ago. The container and the empty vial were recovered. The drug, however, was not. I came here because it would be a hell of a coincidence for that drug to have wound up in the same town where my sister lives, and you know I don't believe in coincidence."

"And what was this experimental drug intended to do?"

"As a doctor, I'm sure you know that the mind is very much like a disk. The chemical state of the mind affects how data is stored, much like an operating system. The idea behind the experiment was that highly classified information could be passed along by injecting the carrier with a drug, giving him the information, and then injecting him with a second drug that would cause his mind to completely block out that information. A third drug would then be administered that would cause the carrier to remember that information so it could be passed on."

"And then what?"

"That's what they've been working on. The next step. They had hoped that the second drug would work to block out the information again, but it doesn't. That's why it's still just an experimental set of drugs."

"Which one was stolen?"

"The third. Someone wanted to awaken her memories. John, this experiment has been going on since the 1970's. It is possible that Jocelyn was used as a test subject. Mycroft had her sent there in 1999, when the hospital was in the process of closing down. There were a lot of empty wards."

"And you think there's something inside her head that someone wants?"

"Yes. I was just talking to Dr. Stapleton when I went outside. The drug that was stolen isn't entirely compatible with the drugs that were being tested when she was at the hospital. She may or may not remember what she told me once the drug wears off. What she remembered may not be completely accurate, there could be missing gaps in the data. I also believe she managed to give herself a bit of botulism before we arrived, which doesn't help matters."

"You mean like Moriarty used?"

"No, nothing like that. She had take out which went into the fridge, the next day she intended to eat it but left the container of coconut shrimp on the counter too long, ate a few before realizing that they were warm. It's a very weak bacteria that she's ingested, but according to Dr. Stapleton the combination of the botulism and the drug would account for her incoherent rambling and her lack of motor skills. Now I'd better get up there with water and painkillers before she tries to make another trip down the stairs."

"How the hell do you know about coconut shrimp?"

"I checked her bin. There was a container of coconut shrimp, nearly full, and a plastic fork on top. I observe and I do know my sister, John."

* * *

 

John watched as Sherlock finally settled on the sofa, choosing to sit on the other section so that they were somewhat facing each other over the coffee table. "She ok?" he asked, putting his book down.

"She will be. She's sleeping now." He pulled a chess piece, the black queen, from his pocket and stared at it. "She said she found this on the seat of her car when she came out of the store."

"From Moriarty?"

"Could be. I need to find those cookies."

"The cookies she thought you were going to steal?"

"Yes. I'll ask her about them when she wakes up."

"Rifling through her cupboards a bit too much work for you?" John teased. "What do you make of that chess piece, then?"

"Not sure. The queen is the most powerful piece on the chess board but who is the queen supposed to be?"

"Your sister?"

Sherlock frowned slightly. "Bit too obvious, that."

"Right." Picking up the book beside him, he resumed reading. "Let me know if there's anything I can do." Getting a grunt in response, he smiled and settled back against the cushions.

His peace was disrupted ten minutes later when Sherlock shot up, black queen still in hand, and raced for the stairs. "Sherlock..." he said, slightly folding a corner to mark his page before setting it down.

"The man with the multiple personalities, Jocelyn played chess with one of them. She said the one she called 'white' tried to teach her. This was a move, John. I need her to help me figure out who the other pieces are so I can make my move."

"Well who is the black queen?"

"Jim Moriarty. Able to move in any direction and any number of spaces without jumping another piece. I have to figure out who the other pieces are in this game so I can make my move."

"What do you mean, make your move?"

"This chess piece is, quite literally, a chess piece. Moriarty is here and if I don't chose correctly, he'll capture another piece. Don't you see, John, that's what this has been all along? We're playing chess. All those people he decked out in explosives, those were just pawns. Too bad I lost one. Moriarty made a bad move, though, when he sent Irene Adler after Mycroft and I. When I unlocked her phone, he lost more than he gained."

"Wouldn't Moriarty be the king, though?"

"No, the king is useless. Nothing but a figure-head. Let your enemy capture it and you lose immediately but the piece is so dull and boring. Only moving one space at a time. Someone else is the black king but I have to figure out who the white pieces are."

"When you said he'll capture another piece..."

"I meant that he'll capture another piece."

"As in kill."

"Possibly. Most likely. It is possible for a captured piece to be returned to the board but I really don't have time to discuss the rules of chess right now."

"Shouldn't you maybe let Mycroft know about all of this?"

He sighed loudly and stood up, pacing around the room. "Yes, of course, but I need to talk to Jocelyn and find out what she remembers of her chess playing. If he tried to teach her the game then he may have given her some clue that could help me unlock all of this."

"And you said yourself that what she remembered may not even be accurate."

"It's all we've got, and even if it is inaccurate it has to be based on something. I need to talk to her before the drugs leave her system."

"No, Sherlock, no," John said, jumping up to block the stairs when Sherlock started for them. "She needs sleep."

"She can sleep after I talk to her." Sherlock pushed past John, rushing to his sister's room.

John shook his head and returned to where he had been sitting on the sofa. Five minutes later he was joined by Sherlock and Jocelyn, the latter of which was wearing blue pajamas and padding around in bare feet.

"You're insane," she said as she sat on the sofa next to John. "Oh, not you, him," she clarified, looking to John. "Though if you keep hanging out with him...not that I'm one to talk, sitting in the living room in my pajamas with a man I've just met, and it's not even suppertime."

"I need a chess set," Sherlock said, looking around the room.

"Then you should have brought one."

"You don't have a chess set?"

"Grandpa's old set might still be up in the attic. You know I don't play, Sherlock."

"Do you remember any of what you told me before? About the patient in the hospital who had multiple personalities?"

"Did I go to get groceries, or did I dream that?"

"You did go to get groceries. What do you remember about the trip?"

"I went to Tesco."

"I need you to describe for me everything that you did from the moment you parked."

"Sherlock, this is ridiculous. It's Tesco, not a dark alley."

"Yet you returned home drugged. Humor me."

"Fine. I got out of the car and went in the shop. I got a shopping cart-"

"Trolley."

"What?"

Sherlock sighed. "You got a shopping trolley."

"I got a shopping  _cart_."

"Trolley."

Jocelyn put her head in her hands. "You're already doing it and I haven't even got into the damn shop yet."

"I'm sorry. Really, I am. I don't mean to do it. It's just...habit."

"It's ok." She reached over and took his hand briefly. "I don't mean to do it either."

"Definitely not like your meetings with Mycroft," John remarked when the silence stretched on.

"What did you buy at the store?" Sherlock asked, his voice softer.

"Bow-tie pasta-"

"Bow-tie-?"

"You like bow-tie pasta."

John tried not to chuckle at that but failed.

"Is there something funny about bow-tie pasta, John?" Sherlock asked.

"No, no, not at all. Sorry."

"I got some of the animal shaped pasta too, like Grams used to make. Not that we have to eat them or anything. I just was missing her so much all day today. When I woke up this morning I could smell fresh baked bread." She looked over her shoulder to the kitchen and sighed, then started to get up. "I should get started on dinner-"

"Forget about dinner," Sherlock said, grabbing her arm and pulling her back down. "We'll go out for dinner. My treat. We can go to that place with the treacle tart that you said was to die for the last time I was here."

"Ok."

"Jos, when's the last time you took your medication?"

"When I got home from the store. I ran out but the pharmacist said it wouldn't hurt me to skip one day. I picked up my refill on the way home and took one as soon as I got inside."

"What medication?" John asked.

"Depakote."

"You have seizures?"

"What?" She looked at John, slightly confused, and then her eyes registered that she understood what he had asked. "No, it's not for seizures. I have bipolar disorder."

"Jos..."

"I'm not ashamed of it, Sherlock. Not anymore. I have an illness and I am controlling it. I'm not like our mother."

"I'm sorry, that's not...I have never been ashamed of you."

"You're ashamed to come from a family with a history of mental illness. Heaven forbid anyone found out that the great Sherlock Holmes comes from such defective genes."

"It must be the pills. The drug was in your pills. Where are they now?"

"Still on the counter, by the sink. You think someone at the pharmacy drugged my pills?"

"Yes. It makes sense. You were fine until you returned home and took one." He paused and looked up at the ceiling for a moment, as though the pattern in the wooden beams was revealing hidden information to him. "I need a lab so I can test those pills to find out just what is in them."

"All of your experimenting crap is in the cellar, go to it," she said as she rested her head in her hands.

"That's hardly a proper laboratory. All of it?"

"What else was I going to do with it? I was afraid if I called someone in to dispose of it they'd think I was a terrorist. And no, I didn't break anything."

"Thank you," he said, pulling out his phone. "I'm going to call Mycroft, have him get a safe supply of your Depakote delivered."

"He'll probably want to deliver it in person. Why don't you ask him to make some government laboratory do an analysis of the pills I picked up?" Jocelyn asked.

Sherlock nodded while putting his phone to his ear to talk. "Mycroft, we need your help."


	3. Games Siblings Play

“Of course, Sherlock. I can be there in a few hours. Is Jocelyn all right?” Mycroft asked, sitting in one of the plush chairs of an empty room of the Diogenes Club.

“She's doing fine. Still under the influence of the drug, I think, but she's coherent and rational. Keeps trying to cook dinner,” Sherlock's voice said from the other end of the phone.

“Horrifying for you, I'm sure. Do try to keep up a brave front.” The elder Holmes chuckled before ending the call. He immediately dialed another number. “I need a plane readied, and a prescription for Depakote. I'm going to visit my sister.”

* * *

 

“Mycroft is on his way,” Sherlock said, coming back into the living room.

“I suppose I should get out the good china,” Jocelyn said, though she made no effort to move. Instead she tucked her legs beneath herself and clutched a cushion to her chest.

“I don't know, I'd rather like to see Mycroft eating with plastic utensils,” John said.

“I doubt Mycroft would eat anything I would serve.”

“I've never known Mycroft to turn down a meal.”

“Sherlock, please. You know, if the two of you weren't constantly bickering...” She let the thought die on her tongue, tossing the cushion aside and jumping up from the sofa. “Why don't you go up to the attic and look for that chess set you said you needed.”

“Why don't you take John up to the attic to find it while I check out the cellar and my equipment?”

“Oh no, I am going to get dressed. Brother or not, I refuse to meet the British government in my pajamas. I think it was quite enough that you were in Buckingham Palace in a bed sheet.”

“Fine.” Sherlock pouted a bit before turning to John. “Will you help me look for the chess set?”

“Sure, I guess.”

Without another word Sherlock took off, running up the stairs without waiting for John.

“Don't worry, there's nothing in the attic that's even remotely dangerous. The chess set is in the blue trunk, underneath our grandmother's wedding dress.”

“So you knew all along where it was?”

“I figure it will keep him away from the chemicals in the cellar long enough for me to get dressed.”

* * *

When John and Sherlock returned from the attic with the chess set, Jocelyn was already in the kitchen with a pot on the stove. “Did Mycroft say when he would be here?” she asked as they walked to the sofa.

“No, but even if he flies it's at least two hours, closer to three,” Sherlock answered. “Determined to feed him, I see.”

The spoon she had been using to stir the contents of the pot banged loudly against the stove top. She took a deep breath, apparently trying to push down the words that threatened to come out of her mouth. “Sherlock, please, for me,” she finally said, her eyes closed and her head down, refusing to look at him, “will you stop the nitpicking and the insults?” Finally she raised her head and looked at him. “You asked him for help, remember? I need him. This is my life that someone is messing with so you can you please just put your pettiness aside and...and help me?”

“Of course we are going to help you. Jos, you know that Mycroft and I...this is just how we are. I will, however, try to refrain from making any...unnecessary remarks.” He had moved to the kitchen by then and had a hand on her back. “I know that you're scared but Mycroft and I are absolutely the worst big brothers that anyone ever crossed. I promise that no matter how much all three of us fight, we will always protect each other. I swore when you were born that no one would ever hurt you and I have no intention of breaking that vow now.” He looked into the pot she had been stirring. “I thought you were fixing pasta? And didn't I say I would treat us to dinner?”

“That was before Mycroft was joining us, and I already had the chicken thawed in the fridge so I thought I'd make chicken and dumplings.”

“Hmm. Comfort food does seem like the logical choice.”

“Why don't you go play with your chess set? You know what they say about too many cooks.”

He kissed her forehead, then went back to join John in the living room.

John had wandered to the wall where some photos were displayed. “Hey Sherlock, is this your sister?” he asked, pointing to a black and white image.

“No, that would be our grandmother. Jocelyn is so much like her.”

“That was sweet, what you said to her.”

“I have no desire to see my sister upset if it can be avoided with some placating words.”

“Right. So, what shall we do while we wait for Mycroft?”

“Let's get back to the chess set. I have to set the board and figure out what Moriarty's next move will be.”

“But before you said that it was your turn, that you had to make a move.”

“And I did. Mycroft is coming here. Once he arrives, it will be Moriarty's turn to move.”

“We still don't know which piece Mycroft is, though.”

“I imagine he would be a knight. Only the knight is able to jump over another chess piece – even the queen can't do that. The knight is limited to moving only two squares forward, backward, left or right, and then one square left or right. An 'L' shape. That's not Mycroft.”

“Maybe's he's the white queen. That does seem more fitting for him, the one piece that can move in any direction, as many spaces as he wants.”

“Yes, that does seem to be Mycroft.” He put the black queen on the board, then brought the white queen next to it. “Damned,” he said softly.

“What?”

“I've just brought Mycroft here so Moriarty can capture him.”

* * *

A lone private jet sat on the tarmac, the air-stairs still deployed when a black car pulled up. Anthea exited, climbing the stairs while continuing to text on the phone in her hands. Upon entering the jet, the phone was slipped into her small clutch while she moved to sit opposite the only passenger.

“Were you able to get it?” Mycroft asked, holding a half-full snifter of brandy in one hand.

“Of course.” She pulled a thick envelope from her jacket, handing it to him. “Are you sure you don't want me to accompany you?”

“Quite. I need you here, as I have little doubt what is happening in Scotland is meant to be a diversion from something else.”

“You think this whole crisis with your sister was manufactured?”

“I think the danger to my sister is quite real. I also think that my going to Scotland was exactly the expected result.”

“Then why go?”

“Because the opportunity to be under the same roof as both Jocelyn and Sherlock is very rare. No, this invitation I cannot pass up and now, perhaps, I can finally make them understand.”

* * *

“I can make a dumpling, Sherlock. It's not exactly rocket science.”

John chuckled as he continued trying to read a book he had brought with him. Listening to Sherlock trying to tell his sister how to cook was far more entertaining than the trashy novel so he put it down and stood up. “You two need any help?”

“No,” Sherlock answered bluntly just as his phone chimed. Pulling it out, he glanced at the screen and read the incoming text message.

_Figured out your next move yet?_

 “What's wrong?” Jocelyn asked when her brother frowned.

 “Nothing. I'll leave you to your dumpling making.” He went into the living room and perched on an arm of the sectional while typing out a message of his own.

  _Where are you? SH_

_Should be landing in Aberdeen soon. Something happen? MH_

_Be careful. SH_

 

“Sherlock?”

Hearing his name, he looked up at John. “Moriarty wants to know if I've figured out my next move yet. Bringing Mycroft here was my move, so either Moriarty doesn't know that Mycroft is on his way or else he's made a move of his own in response.”

“I thought in chess you were supposed to try and guess what was going to happen fifty moves ahead,” John said. “Maybe that's what he's referring to.”

“This isn't right. How can he expect me to play the game without even knowing where all the pieces are?” Sherlock ran his hands through his hair in frustration.

“That would be playing fair. Maybe you shouldn't,” Jocelyn said as she dropped a few dumplings into the pot.

“What did you just say? Your exact words, Jocelyn,” Sherlock said.

“I said that would be playing fair. Maybe you shouldn't.”

“Why would you say that?” He rose and moved towards her, looking at her across the counter.

“It doesn't sound as though this Moriarty is playing fair, so why should you? Who cares where his pieces are? Figure out where yours are and move them strategically. With any luck, you'll catch more of his pieces than he captures of yours.”

“I think you're confusing chess with Battleship,” Sherlock said, turning away.

“If you're playing blind, does it matter what game you play?”

* * *

It was raining when Mycroft's plane landed. He sent a quick text to Sherlock, letting his brother know that he had arrived in Aberdeen. A crew member brought two bags down to the waiting car, waiting for the driver to open the boot so the bags could be stored inside. “Will you be returning tonight, Mr. Holmes?” the crew member asked.

“No, I won't be needing the plane again until tomorrow. I'll have my assistant contact you when I'm ready to return.”

Once he was settled in the car with his umbrella and his briefcase, he pulled out his phone. “I should be there in half an hour, forty-five minutes at most. How is Jocelyn?”

“Cooking and threatening to drag out her old Battleship game,” Sherlock replied.

“Good lord, does she still have that thing? Never mind, of course she does. Are you certain she's not trying to poison us?”

“Dear brother, she has no reason to poison me, and she's scared enough to want her big brothers here so I doubt she's going to poison you.” He turned to look at the kitchen, where John and Jocelyn were making something while the chicken and dumplings simmered on low, he said in a soft voice, “She's remembered something that must have happened when she was at North Wales.”

“I understand, and I'll be there soon.” Ending the call, Mycroft pressed the button that would allow him to speak with the driver. “I need to make a stop before going on to my sister's.”

* * *

The rain was pounding against the windows as Sherlock paced and Jocelyn went about getting the downstairs bedroom ready.

“Shouldn't he be here by now?” she asked, coming into the living room.

“This weather probably slowed traffic a bit,” John offered.

“Mycroft is fine. Probably decided to pull off and start a war on the way over,” Sherlock said.

“I hope it's with France,” Jocelyn said. “Nothing good has come out of France recently.”

“He likes their fatty foods too much to declare war on them. Canada?”

“Canada is part of the commonwealth, Sherlock.”

“Is it?”

“Solar system,” John said under his breath.

“How about the Falkland Islands? Or are we still at war with them?”

“How about we don't go to war with anyone?” John asked.

A rapping at the door disrupted any further discussions on the subject. Jocelyn opened the door to find the British government standing on her porch, his umbrella shielding him from the rain as he clutched his briefcase and a Tesco bag in his other hand, suitcase sitting at his feet. “Hello, Jocelyn,” he said, giving her a thin smile.

“Get in out of the rain,” she told him, moving back inside so he could come past her.

“Thank you.” He closed his umbrella, leaning it against the wall outside. Once inside, he handed her the Tesco bag. “I got this for you.”

“You got me ice cream?”

“I hope you still like Cornetto.”

“Yes. Thank you. Dinner's ready if you're hungry. I made chicken and dumplings. I'm rambling aren't I? Sorry.”

“Quite all right. It's good to see you again.”

“Thank you for coming.”

“Of course. I have no desire to see you in distress.”

“I should put this in the freezer before it melts.”

As she went to the kitchen Mycroft sat beside Sherlock on the sofa. “It's good to see you again Sherlock, Doctor Watson.”

“Were you able to get her prescription?” Sherlock asked.

“Of course. I also did a bit of investigating into the pharmacy that filled her prescription. It seems a new pharmacist started working there two days ago but failed to show up for work today. Naturally I've got people looking for him.”

“And if anyone can find him, I'm sure it will be you. Now let's eat, shall we?”

* * *

Dinner was peaceful, something that seemed to be a bit of a miracle judging by John's reaction. He kept looking from Mycroft to Sherlock, and occasionally to Jocelyn, as though he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

“That was a wonderful meal, Jocelyn. Thank you,” Mycroft said when they were finished and she began clearing the dishes.

“Yes, it was,” Sherlock agreed. “I'll help you with the dishes.”

“You'll do no such thing,” she said when he started to get up. “Why don't you all go into the living room and I'll fix us coffee?”

“I can't quite believe this,” John said when he was sitting with Sherlock and Mycroft on the sofa, “but the two of you are actually being civil. To each other.”

“It was one of the rules of the house,” Mycroft said. “Our grandparents knew what life was like at home and they forbade it here. There would be no teasing, no bullying, no nitpicking, and no making each other cry. This was a...safe haven for us.”

“If we're going to discuss our childhood, perhaps I should skip the coffee and go straight for the whiskey,” Jocelyn said from the kitchen as she got cups out.

“Perhaps we could just skip it all together,” Sherlock mumbled, causing Mycroft to glare at him briefly.

“There are things that the two of you don't remember because you were too young.”

“Oh please.” Sherlock rolled his eyes as he spoke, standing up from the sofa to pace near the fireplace.

“It's true, Sherlock. You were only three when Jocelyn was born. You cannot possibly remember everything that happened.”

“I can remember her crying and you yelling at her.”

“There is another side to the story that you don't know.”

“What I want to know is what Moriarty is planning,” Sherlock replied. “That is all that matters.”


	4. Of Mousetraps And Dragons

"So what are you going to do?" Jocelyn asked, carrying in a tray with their coffee.

"Is there anything you can remember from your times playing chess?"

"I told you, I didn't play. One of the personalities tried to teach me but I just couldn't understand it." After setting the coffee safely on the table, she took a seat between her brothers. “I barely remember a chess board and there were only a few pieces on it. And for some reason, I have the mental image of a dragon sitting on a pizza.”

“God knows I've not played much chess myself,” John said, “but I don't recall dragons or pizza being involved.”

“It must mean something,” Sherlock said. “You just have to think harder.”

“I am thinking hard!” Jocelyn glared at her brother. “Maybe it just means that I was hungry when he was trying to teach me. Maybe I just like dragons and it has no meaning beyond that. I like dragons, I like pizza, mystery solved.”

“You're not a simpleton, so please stop trying to convince me that you are. There was something important and to be sure you would remember, your brain created an image that even now, years later, you remember when you try to think about those chess lessons. Now close your eyes and described the dragon to me.”

She huffed a bit but did as he asked. “Fine. It's a dragon, sitting on top of a pizza.”

“I said _describe_ it. What color is it?”

“White.”

“A white dragon?”

“Apparently I couldn't be bothered with coloring it!” she snapped, her eyes still closed.

“Calm down.” His voice was softer and he put his hand over hers. “Is there anything about the dragon that stands out?”

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes again. “It's just sitting on...oh. There's a mousetrap on its tail.” She opened her eyes to look at him. “Why would I put a mousetrap on a dragon's tail?”

“I have no idea. Forget the dragon, tell me about the pizza.”

“It's a pizza. Square and thick, like the one we got when you took me to Birmingham to visit the Buddhist Vihara. Do you think that's what this is about? Maybe the clue is with the Buddhists.”

“No, the clue isn't with the Buddhists. The clue is a white dragon and pizza.”

“And a mousetrap. God only knows what it could mean, if it really does mean anything.”

“It means something, Jocelyn, and you know what it means. Think about that day. What was so special about that pizza that even now you can remember it?” Mycroft kept his voice low as he spoke.

“It was the first time I'd had Sicilian-style pizza, and it was one of the few times that Sherlock ate instead of just nibbling like a field mouse.”

“Do you get it yet, Sherlock?” Mycroft asked.

“The Sicilian defense, dragon variation. Oh that was clever, very very clever.”

“What does the mousetrap mean?” Jocelyn asked. “Because it has to mean something.”

“Watch out for traps?” John offered.

The chess board was still on the table and Sherlock began placing black pieces on it. “Too obvious. It has some other meaning.”

“You're putting far too much faith in what my mind came up with.”

“And you're putting far too little in it,” Mycroft told her. “You never did believe in yourself.”

“This from the brother who said I was defective.”

“As I said, there are things that you and Sherlock don't remember because you were too young.”

“I remember you calling me defective. I suppose you're going to say that you had a good reason for it but I just _don't remember it_.”

“I doubt it would make any difference no matter what I was to tell you.”

“Would the two of you please shut up?” Sherlock said. “I can't think with all this babbling!”

“Fine.” Jocelyn stood up without another word and walked to the stairs, going upstairs.

“I hope you're happy now,” Mycroft said, standing up. “I believe I will also retire for the evening, lest my thinking disturb you.”

“Fine. Leave me. All of you just leave me and I'll figure this out on my own.”

“Good job, Sherlock,” John said when it was just the two of them.

“The three of us together, this was bound to happen.”

“You can't solve this one on your own, mate.”

“Yes,” Sherlock admitted, looking slightly defeated, “I know. Jocelyn seems to hold the key information.”

“Would it really kill you to admit that you could use Mycroft's help as well?”

“It might. Best not to risk it.” Sherlock's lips turned up in a slight smile.

“Right. So what now?”

“I suppose I should apologize to my sister.”

“And Mycroft?”

“I'll...talk to Mycroft. He can be useful and no, you are not to ever tell him I said that.”


	5. Status Quo

“Jocelyn, please, open the door.” Sherlock stood in the hallway, resting his forehead against said door. “You have told me, on several occasions, that I need to think about what I'm going to say before I say it. It appears you were correct. See, I admitted that you were right. Now please come out here.”

“Why? I'll just disturb you by thinking or breathing or blinking or--”

“Jocelyn, stop this and just open the door.”

“No.”

“Please open the door.”

“No.”

“But I said please!”

“I don't want to.”

“I will stand out here and keep talking until you open this door. I can keep you awake all night if that's what it takes.”

The door opened and Jocelyn glared at him. “Be my guest. I have earplugs.”

“Don't be ab—” The door slammed shut in his face before he could finish the thought. “Jocelyn Holmes, you open this door right now!”

“You can imagine what it was like growing up with those two,” Mycroft said softly, joining John at the bottom of the stairs.

“I don't want to imagine what Christmas dinners must have been like.”

Mycroft chuckled. “No, you probably don't.”

“He's definitely different with her. I never thought I would hear Sherlock Holmes say he was sorry or admit that someone else was right, never mind both.”

“They have always been close. I imagine it was easier for the two of them to get along, being only three years different in age.”

“So did she want to be a pirate too?”

“I'm afraid she did. The two of them were going to be the scourges of the seven seas.”

“I'll need some tools to get that door down,” Sherlock said, rushing down the stairs.

“Sherlock,” Mycroft called after him, “you cannot be seriously thinking about removing the door.”

“I most certainly can.”

“Sherlock, you cannot destroy your sister's house. Let's all just turn in for the night and start over again tomorrow,” John said.

“Do you really think,” Sherlock spoke as he turned around and came back to John and Mycroft, “that Moriarty is going to sit around and wait until morning to make his move? Of course not! He is out there plotting and moving his pieces around and I will not let my stubborn sister give him the upper hand!”

“Stubborn?” Jocelyn came to the top of the stairs and stared down at her brother. “You dare to call _me_ stubborn? Listen to yourself talking.”

“Jocelyn, I--”

“I don't know what you want from me, Sherlock. I don't remember anything more than what I've told you.”

“But the memories are in there, somewhere. You do have the information, and if you'll trust me I can help you to remember it.”

“Maybe I don't want to remember it. Maybe whatever it is, is so horrible that it should just stay locked away forever.”

“What makes you think something horrible happened?”

“I don't know. I just...do.”

“Why don't you come downstairs, Jocelyn. We can all sit down and talk,” Mycroft said. “Better than shouting at each other from opposite ends of the staircase, don't you think?”

When they were all sitting on the sofa, Jocelyn reached towards the chess board and picked up a white pawn. “Now what?”

“Think. Does anything about the chess board look familiar or remind you of anything?”

“No.” She looked to the pawn in her hand and then back to the board. “You have to sacrifice one.”

“Sacrifice one? One what?” Sherlock asked.

“Pawn. You have to sacrifice a pawn to win this game. I remember him saying that.”

“Well I've already lost a pawn. He killed the old woman.”

“Sacrificing and losing are not the same,” Mycroft said. “You didn't sacrifice her, you _lost_ her. They are two entirely different things.”

“The mousetrap gambit. That would explain the mousetrap on the dragon's tail,” Sherlock said, ignoring Mycroft's comment. “Do you remember anything else?”

She leaned forwards and put one finger from each hand on each outside square of the first row, moving in one square as she said named the pieces. “Rooks, knights, bishops, king and queen. Thus concludes Jocelyn's knowledge of the game of chess.”

“Do you remember anything else that he said when he was trying to teach you?”

“No. I know he told me a lot of things but I can't remember anything else right now.”

“Perhaps we should concentrate on figuring out who the pieces are, Sherlock,” Mycroft said. “Until you've got that sorted, you can't know what Moriarty is planning.”

“Hmm, yes. That should be easy enough. You're the queen, obviously. I suppose John and I are either knights or bishops.”

“If you're the player, how can you be one of the pieces?” John asked.

“An excellent point, and one that I have considered. Moriarty may be just a piece, directed by someone else.”

“If that is the case, brother, then who is my king? Or is someone else controlling me as well?”

“All right, so maybe in real life chess,” Jocelyn said, “one can be both the king and the player. It would make sense since the game would end if either player was...incapacitated.”

Sherlock's phone chimed with a new text message. “Another vial has gone missing from Baskerville,” he announced after setting the phone down on the table.

“Dr. Stapleton?” John asked. “Why is she so keen to notify you about what goes missing at Baskerville anyway?”

“After our experience in Baskerville, she was curious and started digging through other old research projects. The name J. Holmes was written on one of the files, so she contacted me and asked if the name meant anything. I asked her to let me know if she thought anyone else was looking into that project.”

“Did she say what was in this latest missing vial?”

“No, just a text that another vial is missing. I assume if she had any more information, she would have called to tell me.”

“You think I was just someone's lab experiment, don't you? Holmes is a common surname, you know. There are probably pages of people named J. Holmes.”

“And only one of them that Moriarty is focused on at the moment. He'll use you to come at me.”

“So what do we do?” John asked.

“I am going to North Wales to check out the hospital. There may be some clue there about what was going on. Mycroft, I presume, will check on things at Baskerville.”

“Actually, I'd like to go with you to North Wales.”

“We'll all go,” Jocelyn said. “I'm the one that was there, after all, it's only fair that I get to come along.”

“Absolutely not,” Mycroft said. “It's safer if you and John stay here and make Moriarty split his attention.”

“Where are the cookies?” Sherlock asked suddenly.

“What?”

“The cookies? You said earlier that I was going to steal cookies. Where are the cookies?”

“What cookies?”

He sighed loudly. “You always used to buy those vanilla wafer cookies. I had thought that perhaps the drug had been administered that way, and as soon as I mentioned that you probably would have eaten some on the way home you said that I was going to steal your cookies.”

“Are you sure you weren't drugged as well?”

“Did you or did you not buy cookies?”

“I did _not_ buy cookies, and what are you going on about that I said you were going to steal the non-existence cookies?”

“You really don't remember?” John asked. “When you were going upstairs to go to bed, you told Sherlock to go ahead and search your car.”

“I don't remember going to bed, just coming downstairs when _someone_ woke me up to ask about chess.”

“Tell me everything you remember from the time you took the pills until now,” Sherlock demanded.

It was Jocelyn's turn to sigh as she leaned back on the sofa. “I remember finding you in the cupboard.”

“I don't even want to know,” John said with a slight shake of his head.

“I told you about Jim from North Wales and then I must have gone to bed because you woke me up to ask about chess.”

“You don't remember coming downstairs saying you had a headache?”

“No.”

“But you remember what you told me about the man with the multiple personalities?”

“Yes, I remember that. I don't remember what I told you, exactly, but I remember him and I remember telling you about the chess playing. What do I not remember?”

“Sherlock riffled through your car looking for cookies,” John said after several seconds of silence.

“Everything is strewn across the drive, isn't it?”

“Shoved in the back seat, actually,” Mycroft said. “I noticed it when I arrived.”

“I don't believe this.”

“You gave me permission!”

“Just...enough. I don't care.” Jocelyn stood up and walked away, heading towards the stairs. “I'll deal with it in the morning.”

“You can't just--”

“I've had it, Sherlock. I am _done_ for tonight. I am going to take a bath and go to bed, and I expect my sleep not to be disturbed by any more questions or deductions. Goodnight, and hopefully you'll all still be here in the morning.”

“Jocelyn, please, wait...” Mycroft said. “You do have every right to go to North Wales, but I don't believe it is in your best interest to do so.

“I give up. Do what you want.” She continued up the stairs, heading off to her own room when she reached the landing. The slamming of a door was heard a few seconds later.

“That was...unexpected,” Sherlock said.

“Shall I call to have the plane take us to Wales?” Mycroft asked while picking a piece of lint from his shirt cuff.

“You're seriously going to go to Wales, and you expect me to stay here with your sister?”

“The alternative is leaving her here alone. If you don't want to stay here then...” Sherlock shrugged and picked up his phone, starting to tap at the screen.

“So now you're going to _guilt_ me into staying here?”

“I can assure you that our sister's safety is of the utmost importance, and the fact that Sherlock and I are trusting you with her safety should be taken as a compliment.”

John glared at Mycroft for several seconds, and the elder Holmes returned the gaze with a slight grin.

“Fine,” John finally said, “I'll stay here with her, assuming she agrees. How long do you think you'll be gone?”

“No more than a day unless we find something to point us in another direction,” Sherlock told him.

“You are going to be here in the morning, right?”

There was a brief pause before Sherlock nodded. “Of course. Well, I'll be heading up to my room to unpack.”

“Yes, I should do the same. Goodnight John, Sherlock.”

“I guess I'll head up too,” John finally said once Mycroft had disappeared into the downstairs bedroom.

“Mycroft was right before, about Jocelyn's safety being of the utmost importance. There is no one else that I would trust to keep her safe from Moriarty.”

“I still think it would be a mistake to go there without her.”

“Duly noted. Good night, John.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for how long this has taken! Now that things are slowing down a bit at work, I should have more time for writing. Also, the pace of the story should pick up in the next chapter.


	6. The Case of the Missing Mower

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, apologies for the length of time this has taken. If it helps, future chapters are already plotted out and mostly written.

_“Did you really think you could keep her safe, Johnny Boy?”_

_John shot up in bed at the sound of Moriarty's voice, reaching frantically in the dark for the bedside lamp. When he finally got it turned on he saw that he was alone in the room, though there were voices coming up from downstairs. Slowly he got up, pulling on a dressing gown before making his way down the stairs._

_“I did warn you, Sherlock, what would happen if you continued to interfere. You couldn't just leave well enough alone, though, could you?” He looked to the stairs where John was standing at the bottom. “Took you long enough. Not a very good pet, were you?”_

_“What have you done to them?”_

_“Put them out of their misery. Isn't that the merciful thing to do, put an animal down rather than letting it continue to suffer?”_

_For the first time John noticed Mycroft and Jocelyn lying dead on the floor in front of him. “Why?” was all he managed to get out._

_“It was the most humane option. They couldn't be allowed to continue, they simply couldn't. I don't leave loose ends, Doctor Watson.”_

_“Where is Sherlock?”_

_“Right here, of course.” Moriarty gestured to Sherlock's decapitated body that was in a sitting position beside the consulting criminal. “He always said that his body was just transport. I've simply freed him from being a slave to its needs.”_

_“John, it's all right,” Sherlock's voice said, and John spun around before finally spotting Sherlock's head on the kitchen counter. “John, you need to wake up now.”_

_“Jesus, this can't be happening. This can't be real.”_

_“It isn't real.” Sherlock's head kept talking from the counter. “John, you're dreaming. Wake up.”_

John's eyes flew open and he sat up in bed, his head nearly colliding with Sherlock's. He was breathing hard as though he needed to catch his breath.

“Are you all right?” Sherlock asked, sitting on the very edge of the bed.

“Yeah, I'm...I'm all right. Sorry, sorry, I didn't mean to--”

“Nonsense, you didn't disturb anyone. Jocelyn was up and about an hour ago, no doubt due to her sleeping in the middle of the day, and I got out of bed when I heard the kettle whistle. You were calling out and I...” Sherlock suddenly looked as though he had done something wrong.

“It's fine, really. Not the first time you've had to wake me up from a nightmare, is it?”

“It has been a while though, and I had hoped that they were gone for good.”

“Think your sister would mind if I came down for a cup of tea?”

“No, of course not. I'll see you down there in a bit.”

John watched as Sherlock left, familiar blue dressing gown billowing in the detective's wake. He blinked and looked at the clock. “Two in the bloody morning,” he said to himself, eying the lamp the Sherlock must have turned on. “I should have known this wouldn't be any sort of holiday.”

* * *

“Where is Sherlock?” John asked when he finally came downstairs in sweatpants and t-shirt only to find his flatmate was nowhere in sight.

“Cellar,” came the reply as Jocelyn moved to the cupboard, retrieving another mug. “Do you want tea or shall I make a pot of coffee?”

“Tea is fine. Cellar?”

“I did put all his crap down there. Hopefully he won't do anything that requires dialing 999.”

“Does he do that often?”

“Not intentionally, and only once did it come close to requiring a fire truck.” A mug of hot tea was placed on the counter where he was standing. “What about you? Any experiments threaten the flat?”

“Not yet, surprisingly.”

The door in the kitchen flung open and Sherlock came storming in. “Jocelyn, some of my things are missing,” he announced.

“What are you missing?” Jocelyn asked.

“Lawn mower.”

“It's in the shed outside. Why do you want the lawn mower?”

“Why is it in the shed?”

“That is where a lawn mower belongs. Occasionally the lawn needs to be mowed and I wasn't buying another one.”

Sherlock frowned for a moment. “Oh. I never thought about you using a mower. Doesn't seem like something you would do.”

“We're all full of surprises, aren't we? Now what in the world do you need the mower for?”

“Oh I don't need the mower, just noticed it was missing. Did you touch any of the journals I left behind?”

It was Jocelyn's turn to frown. “I don't remember seeing any journals. Lots of tubes and slides and a few notepads that I boxed up with the microscope, but no journals.”

“Strange, I was sure I left them here.”

“Maybe they're in your room. I just took the boxes out of the closet, I didn't touch the desk or the dresser.”

“No, I looked there before I went down into the cellar. The journals are gone. Have you had any break-ins?”

“No, I...well I did come home once and the front door was partially open but I'd been in a hurry to leave the day before and I just figured I forgot to lock it behind me. I didn't notice anything missing or out of place so I just forgot about it.”

“You should have called me.”

“Because I left a door unlocked? If I were to call you every time I did something stupid I'd--”

“Not calling me was the stupid thing.”

“Sherlock,” John said gently.

“Right, sorry. Jocelyn, I am sorry, I shouldn't have said that. Leaving doors unlocked just isn't like you. When did this happen?”

“Hogmanay. I didn't get back until January 2nd.”

“You could have been murdered in the center of town and no one would have noticed during the festival. A stranger would draw no attention so it would be the perfect time,” Sherlock said.

“You really think someone stole your journals? Why would anyone want them?”

“If Moriarty wants to figure out how I think, what better way than through my journals? There was also a good deal in them about you and Mycroft so--”

“You wrote about me?” Jocelyn interrupted. “Why would you write about me in your journals?”

“Because you're my sister and I was trying to find a way to...”

“To fix me?” she offered when he didn't finish.

“To _help_ you,” he corrected. “You weren't a broken toy in need of repair.”

“Do the lot of you ever sleep?” Mycroft asked, rubbing his eyes as he made his way out of the downstairs bedroom in black silk pyjamas.

“Sleeping is a waste of time,” Sherlock said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Now that we're all here, who wants breakfast?” Jocelyn asked with a slight grin.

* * *

“What time are you leaving?” she asked, hours later, washing the breakfast dishes while Mycroft dried. The first rays of sunlight were casting faint beams through the windows where Sherlock was curled up on the sofa, asleep. John was sitting at the other end, chin on his chest and eyes closed.

“I had planned to be on our way before the sun rose but it seems not to have worked out that way.”

“Do you really think someone broke in and stole Sherlock's journals?”

“Who knows. If someone did break in, they left you unharmed which is the important thing.”

“But Sherlock said--”

“There's no point in fretting over it.” He wiped his hands on the towel before rested them on her shoulders. “Let it go.”

“I can't let it go if someone was in my home, Mycroft.”

“ _If_ being the key word. We don't know that anyone was or was not. It didn't bother you at the time when you found the door unlocked, so why does it bother you now?”

“Because at the time I didn't know there was a madman after my brother!”

Brother and sister stared at each other, unblinking, for several seconds until a loud snore from the living room made them both chuckle.

“Are you going to wake them so you can leave for Wales?”

“No,” Mycroft said, “I don't believe I will. With any luck he'll be easier to deal with after a bit of sleep.”


	7. Shadows and Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You've already reached your conclusion and won't believe anything I try to tell you so what's the point?"

"What is it that you're hoping to find?" Sherlock asked as he and Mycroft strolled through an apparently abandoned building.

"There is always something left behind, dear brother."

"It's been several years now. What the looters haven't destroyed the elements will no doubt have taken care of."

"Look around, Sherlock. The building is still in fair shape, there's minimal mold and mildew so the elements are not winning any battles here. Besides, where we're going will have been inaccessible to any looters."

"I suppose you're going to tell me that there's some hidden, secret section to the hospital."

"Yes. Underground, accessible only by a specific lift which I dare say won't work since there's no power. We'll have to find the lift and climb down the ladder in the shaft."

"And when you say we..."

"I mean  _we_ , Sherlock. She is my sister too."

"I thought you didn't like leg work."

"I make exceptions when it's someone I care about."

"I thought caring was a weakness found only in the losing side."

"It is, brother. It is. That's why it's so important to hide the fact that you can care about anyone. It can only be used against you."

"Then why do you do it?"

Mycroft sighed. "Because sometimes you have no choice. You and Jocelyn are my family, and I have cared about you both for as long as you've been alive. I didn't chose to care about you, and I would have preferred not caring, to be perfectly honest, but I have yet to find a way to shut it off."

When they arrived at a door marked "ELECTRICAL – KEEP OUT" Mycroft pulled out his ID card and ran in through the lock. It beeped and a green light came on.

"What happened to no power?"

"Obviously security had to be maintained. There's a small nuclear reactor about the size of a cigarette pack that provides perpetual power to the security system."

"Good thing you came along so we could have access, then."

"After that stunt you pulled at Baskerville, you're lucky I can still get us in here."

"Please."

"I am not all-powerful, Sherlock. I have superiors who were quite unhappy when I had to admit that my brother had nicked my id card and used it to gain access to a level 5 secure facility."

"You don't seem any the worse for it."

"You wouldn't really know, now would you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Nevermind, we haven't the time for this. Come on, it's right here."

Sherlock pulled a small torch from the pocket of his coat, shining the light briefly on Mycroft's face and then on the doors of the lift. "Is there not a stairwell?"

"Not any more. When they first started to pull down the old hospital there was a bit of a collapse. That's why they haven't finished demolishing the buildings."

"They don't want to risk ruining a perfectly good Baskerville test site."

"Something like that." Mycroft ran his card through the reader for the lift and the doors slid open. "That's all the power there is, unfortunately. The doors are powered but not the lift itself."

"It's not here." Sherlock leaned forward to look around the empty shaft. "It would seem that before the power was cut, it was called back down."

"The last person out of it likely just pushed the button to take it down and then exited the lift. Makes things a bit easier for us as we don't have to climb up through the roof hatch. Can you see the ladder?"

"Yes, it's just to the side. I'll go down first."

"No, Sherlock, I'll-"

The thought was never finished as the younger Holmes proceeded down the ladder, causing it to clang and echo in the confined space. With a resigned sigh Mycroft followed after his brother. It took a bit of time before Mycroft dropped onto the roof of the elevator beside Sherlock.

"Are you all right?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, fine." Mycroft bent down and ran his card through the reader on the hatch, visibly relieved when there was a beeping sound and the hatch unlocked so he could open it. "Shall we?"

* * *

"Show me her room," Sherlock demanded as soon as they had the elevator doors open.

"Mind handing over your torch then? I should be able to get the emergency lights on if I can find the switch for them, assuming that battery still has some life in it."

The emergency lighting blinked on a few minutes later, though it was dim. "Won't last long," Sherlock remarked.

"Let's not waste time, then."

They walked past what appeared to have been a nurse's station and down a corridor until Mycroft stopped in front of a blue door with the number '9' stenciled on it. "This is where I found her. I assume it's where you'll want to begin looking for clues."

"Yes." He pushed the door open and went in, then noticed that his brother was staying in the hall. "Not coming in?"

"No. I'm going to see if I can find whatever records were left behind."

"They weren't all removed when this was shut down?"

"The medical records were removed, but the detailed records on the research were considered too much of a threat to remove. Safer to leave them here."

* * *

"There is nothing here," Sherlock said. "There is not a trace that anyone was ever in that room."

Mycroft was leaning against a counter, reading a file folder. "Nothing at all?"

"The room is sterile, void of anything useful." He paused, looking to the large stack of files beside Mycroft. "I take it you've found something of interest?"

"Yes. Unfortunately everything is coded so I cannot be 100% certain which files pertain to Jocelyn. You never could lie to me so tell me what it was you found in her room."

"You wear a plain gold band on the ring finger of your right hand. Most people would think it a wedding ring but you have never married. Not a wedding ring, then, but it does hold some attachment for you since you rub your thumb across it whenever you're thinking or you're worried. Odd given your feelings about sentiment, but then you did climb down an elevator to find out what happened to Jocelyn so sentiment isn't completely out of the question."

"What did you find, Sherlock?" he asked, looking up from the file.

"A ring, just like yours, inside Jocelyn's pillow." He held out his open hand to show the ring. "So, dear brother, what is the story behind your ring?"

"It's just a piece of jewelry, a very common gold band that is very popular."

"You aren't going to try and tell me that it is a  _coincidence_  that there is a ring just like it in our sister's pillow, are you?"

"Hello, boys!" a familiar voice said as the lights in the building came on and the sound of equipment starting up echoed loudly. "So good to see you again," Moriarty said over the intercom. "I was a tiny bit worried that you wouldn't actually show up, though it really was only a matter of time before you came here."

"What do you want?" Sherlock yelled.

"I think it's important for siblings to spend time together, especially you two. So many secrets between you. That's why I've arranged for you to have some quality time without any outside interruption. Oh, don't worry about Jocelyn. I plan on taking very good care of her, and your pet, John, as well. Wouldn't want him wandering off, he could get hurt or even killed. I would wish you luck in escaping but I think we can all agree that there's no such thing as luck."

The power went off as abruptly as it had come on, plunging them into complete darkness as the dim emergency lighting also went out.

"He's trapped us," Sherlock stated after a few moments of silence. "We won't get back out the way we got in since Moriarty was clearly expecting us and will have blocked it."

"We'll find a way out."

"The lack of dust means this section is hermetically sealed, so let's find a way out of here before we run out of oxygen. A space this size, we should be good for several hours but let's not test that theory."

* * *

"So what secrets was Moriarty referring to?" Sherlock asked as he held up his torch to illuminate building plans that Mycroft was reading.

"Are you now taking the ramblings of a mad man seriously?"

"I've known for some time that you've got secrets. What is it that you haven't told Jocelyn about?"

"Don't be absurd, Sherlock."

"You wouldn't be this agitated if it weren't true."

"For god's sake," Mycroft said, his voice rising, "this is hardly the time."

"Moriarty likes to play games. He's given us a puzzle, and the solution has something to do with whatever secrets you're keeping from me."

"I don't see how any of it could help us escape."

"Just because you can't see it doesn't mean that it isn't there."

"Fine." Apparently giving up on looking over the blueprints, Mycroft turned to his brother. "Do you remember when you came in and found Jocelyn crying in the rubbish bin?"

"Yes, I remember it quite well. You actually tried to throw our sister out in the garbage."

"Did I? I know that's the conclusion you jumped too."

"Jocelyn was in the rubbish bin, screaming and crying, and you were standing over the bin."

"You've already reached your conclusion and won't believe anything I try to tell you so what's the point?"

"If I'm wrong then tell me what happened. What is the secret you've been keeping?"

"Mummy couldn't stand anyone crying, especially her children. I'm sure you remember that Jocelyn cried a lot."

"Yes, of course I remember. You would get so angry at her and yell at her to shut up."

"I was afraid for her. I learned very early in life that crying would lead to pain."

"I don't understand."

"I know. It was easier keeping you from feeling her wrath. You simply weren't one to cry, but Jos..."

"Are you saying that our mother-"

"You know how cruel she can be."

"Mycroft, what did she do?"

With a resigned sigh, Mycroft found a chair and sat down. "She didn't like to be interrupted, but father was away on business so much and every nanny hired would quit within a few days. She couldn't even be bothered with feeding me, so as soon as I was able to feed myself, I did."

"That's why you were overweight. It makes sense." When Mycroft said nothing more, Sherlock came over and sat in the chair beside his brother. "You had the power to make sure you never went hungry again, and it was the only power you had."

"Perhaps we should focus on Jocelyn being thrown out with the trash."

"Of course. Tell me what happened."

"She was crying, and Mummy came into the nursery screaming. She hit her across the face so hard, and then she picked Jos up and started shaking her..." Mycroft paused to take a deep breath before he continued. "When Jocelyn stopped crying, Mummy put her down and went back to the library. I expected to find my sister dead. She wasn't though. I think she stopped crying because she'd had the breath shaken out of her. She started crying again soon enough, and I knew, I just knew that this time, Mummy would kill her. Mummy hated that she cried all the time."

"You weren't trying to get rid of her, you were trying to save her when you put her in the bin."

"A rather foolish plan, in hindsight, but I didn't have much experience to draw on. I didn't know when I dropped her in that the bin had been emptied earlier. After I got the bin outside I couldn't reach in far enough to get her back out. That's what I was trying to do when you and Mummy came running to see why she was screaming. I never meant to throw my sister out in the garbage."

Sherlock stood up and looked around. "That may be the solution to our problem. They had bins down here and there had to be some way of getting them outside for collection."

"All right, let me check the blueprints and see if I can find anything to do with garbage collection."

"How could Moriarty possibly have known about you putting her in the garbage bin, though?"

"Perhaps it came up while Jocelyn was here. You certainly made sure she knew that I tried to throw her out with the garbage."

"It made for a good story."

"There's a dumbwaiter that was used for deliveries and garbage," Mycroft said, looking from the blueprints to the surrounding areas. "If we can find it, we may be able to climb up that way."

"Lead the way then."

"You go find it." Mycroft offered the blueprints to Sherlock. "I need to go through more of those files."

"What did you find?"

"Just go, find it and see if it's a viable exit route. I'll tell you everything once we're free of this god-forsaken place."


	8. Something In The Air

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains suggestions of sexual abuse. If this is something that bothers you, you should probably skip this.

Mycroft rubbed his eyes, taking a break from reading files by the light of his mobile phone screen. He massaged his temples as though warding off a headache and, in the total darkness, he picked up the faint glow coming from _inside_ the lens of a security camera. Pushing himself away from the counter he had been resting against, he walked in the direction that Sherlock had gone, relying again on his mobile to cast enough light to find his way.

“Ah, Mycroft,” Sherlock said, the beam of his torch cutting through the darkness as he turned and shined the light directly into his brother's face. “I've found the dumbwaiter but it's much too small for a person to fit inside and the mechanism appears to be stuck and refuses to move.”

Bringing his hand up to shield his eyes, Mycroft got close enough to grab the torch and point it away from him. “Moriarty is still watching us,” he said, barely above a whisper.

“The security cameras, yes. I noticed that there was a faint glow as though the lenses were on. Not surprising that he would want to see what we're doing.”

“We should locate the old stairwell. It may be possible for us to make our way out or at least to get a signal and call for help. As long as Moriarty controls the power and the systems, it's too dangerous to consider the lift.”

“Agreed.” There was a brief pause. “He was never interested in Jocelyn, was he?”

“No, he only wanted to bring me here where he knew I could use my ID card to gain access. He should now have three good copies of the encrypted data which he will likely use to create his own card, giving him nearly unlimited access.”

“He must have gained access to all of her records.”

“He has someone on the inside at Baskerville, someone with enough authority to steal experimental drugs. He knew all the details of her life and used them to bring me right where he wanted me. I am sorry that you got caught in this, and sorry that Jocelyn has suffered because of him.”

“If you knew then why dig through those files? Moriarty isn't after anything that she--”

“Because, Sherlock, I need to know. I owe her that much.”

“When did you figure it out?”

“I suspected it when you called to ask for my help. I took the precaution of carrying a tracking signal, and an extraction team is on standby. If the signal is lost for more than one hour, they will move in on the last location received.”

“Then what was the point of sending me in search of another way out?”

“So that I might have the chance to read through the files in peace.”

“What did you not want me to see?”

“We really should see if that staircase is navigable. As you pointed out, the lift isn't a feasible option since we know that Moriarty has control of the systems.”

“And how will your extraction team know that?”

“They won't, which is why we need to try and get to the stairwell so that I can send a message to my assistant.”

“What if we were to try sending the lift up?”

“Power, Sherlock.”

“Moriarty hasn't cut all the power since the cameras are still going.”

“All the more reason to avoid the lift. We need to avoid anything tied to the power or the computer system, remember?”

“You two are just too clever for your own good, you know that?” Moriarty's voice asked, coming over the intercom. “Now that you've got it all figured out, there's really no point in continuing to watch. I mean, what's the fun if there's no chance of you setting off one of the many surprises I had in store for you. I guess I'll just have to settle for watching you enjoy what was to be the grand finale.”

A hissing sound drew their attention to an air vent that had come on. White fog began to pour from one, then the next and then next until all down the hallways, gas was coming out of the vents like waterfalls of white fog, rolling down the walls and gathering along the floor. Sherlock covered his mouth and nose with his scarf, and Mycroft grabbed his jacket up from the counter, holding it to his face. The cloud of fog was quickly building and rising instead of keeping to the floor, and soon the beam of Sherlock's torch couldn't cut through it as it filled the entire hall.

“I wonder which of the experimental drugs is in the fog this time,” Moriarty's voice said through the speakers. “I bet Jocelyn wondered that too, every time they injected her with something.”

The mist turned from white to red and seemed to glow, moving more like a thick liquid as it gathered around Mycroft's feet. He tried to move away but his feet were stuck in place as the liquid got deeper, reaching up to his knees.

“Mycroft Holmes, what have you done now?” his mother demanded, striding towards him.

“This is just an hallucination, nothing more,” he said out loud.

“You arrogant, lazy bastard, always wanting something from me. 'I'm hungry, I'm scared, I'm tired, I don't feel good.' I would have had an abortion if I'd known how demanding you were going to be.”

“A mother is supposed to take care of her children.”

“What would you know? You'll never be anything but fat. That's why I'm the only one who loves you and can stand you.”

“A mother who loves her children doesn't--”

“You know nothing of the subject, remember? Have you ever told them, Sherlock and Jocelyn? Have you told them how much I love you?”

“Did you ever tell Father about it?”

She laughed. “Why didn't you ever tell your darling father yourself if you didn't enjoy it?”

“Did you try to kill Jocelyn because you couldn't stand having another female in the house?”

“She was nothing but a crying brat who always needed attention. At least you eventually figured it out, but Jocelyn never did. Well maybe she would have if you hadn't always come running to her rescue. Even Sherlock got it eventually.”

“You never laid a finger on either of them because I kept them safe!”

“Are you sure about that? You couldn't watch them 24 hours a day and besides, you were just a child yourself when Sherlock came along.”

“I'm not listening to any more of this. You're an hallucination, the product of my own mind and nothing more.”

“In that case, you must have enjoyed it. Maybe you'd like to pay Mummy a visit, see if it's just like you remember.”

“My only interest in your location is making sure that you are far away from us.”

She hissed, opening her mouth to reveal long fangs. Her eyes glowed red as she came at him and sank her fangs into his shoulder.

Mycroft screamed in pain, then felt hands on his shoulders. “Jocelyn?” he asked, surprised to see her looking down at him. “What...and how are you here?”

“It's ok now, you're fine. Sherlock said some drug--”

“Why are you here?” he asked, pushing her back so he could sit up.

“I was worried about you and--”

“You were supposed to stay in Stonehaven with Dr. Watson.”

“Well when a bunch of soldiers show up and say that I have to come with them to see my brothers, I figure it's best to do what they say.”

“What soldiers?”

“Your special operations team,” Sherlock said, entering the room. “Remember, the ones that were supposed to come and rescue us when they stopped receiving your signal?”

Looking around, Mycroft took in the sterile room for the first time. “I'm in hospital.”

“Of course you're in hospital,” Jocelyn said. “You nearly died.”

“Why are you up and about, Sherlock?”

“The gas didn't affect me that much, I guess my scarf was more effective at keeping it out of my lungs then your coat was.”

“What did you find?” Jocelyn asked. “When you were there at the hospital, did you find out what happened to me?”

“The files that I had, what happened to them?”

“I don't know,” Sherlock replied with a shrug.

“Those files were important!”

“You shouldn't shout, Mycroft, you'll only get yourself worked up and then _she_ will come in here. You don't want that, do you?”

“Who will come in here?”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Mummy, of course.”

“Please, don't make her come in here,” Jocelyn begged. “She'll blame me for you getting hurt because you were trying to help me.”

“Both of you stop this!”

“Now Mycroft,” he heard his mother say, “is that any way to talk to your brother and sister? They're just worried about you?”

“How did she get in here?” he asked when she was suddenly standing beside Jocelyn.

“I think I'll kill her first. You always did hate her.”

“No! Stop!” Mycroft screamed when his mother raised her hand to reveal a large cleaving knife.

“It's all right, Mummy only wants you to be happy.”

“I'm still hallucinating. That has to be it.”

“Then I'm flattered you keep calling me into your little fantasies. Now, Jocelyn, say goodbye to your brothers,” she said, standing behind Jocelyn with the blade across the youngest Holmes' throat.

“Why are you letting her do this?” Jocelyn asked, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Why do you hate me so much?”

“I don't hate you, Jocelyn, I have always tried to protect you.”

“And yet, given the chance, your mind conjures up your Mummy killing her. That's because it's what you want, what you always wanted. For her to no longer exist.”

“No, I never...that's not true!”

“But your life would have been so much better without her around. You know it would have been, that's why your creating this little fantasy in your mind. Make no mistake, Mycroft, this is _your_ fantasy, conjured up from the deepest parts of your subconscious. No one could blame you for wishing she was dead, dear. She is defective, after all.”

“Stop saying that!” He put his hands over his ears and squeezed his eyes shut. “Stop saying that, she is not defective, she is my sister!”

 

* * *

 

 “Mycroft!” Sherlock reached blindly into the fog but found nothing.

 “No need for big brother, Sherlock. It's just you and me now,” Moriarty's disembodied voice said.

 “Where are you?”

 “Everywhere, nowhere, it's all the same really.”

 “You're a coward, using other people to relay your messages, using my sister because you were too scared to face me.”

 “You think you're so very clever, don't you? You are nothing without me, Sherlock Holmes. Remember that.”

 “Show yourself!”

 “Do you honestly think that this is real? Any of it?”

 “The drug, of course. You're nothing but a product of my own mind.”

 “Took you long enough to figure it out.”

 “Do shut up.”

 “No need to be so rude.” The fog began to clear, revealing James Moriarty who was walking towards Sherlock. “So this is your precious mind palace.”

 “No, this is just a drug-induced hallucination. Now go away.”

 “If you really didn't want me here, I wouldn't be here. It is your hallucination, after all.”

 “I wish the real Moriarty was here so I could get answers. You are a part of my own mind and therefore cannot be of any use to me.”

 “Well now you're just being insulting.”

 Sherlock ignored the last remark and looked around. “Where is this place?” he asked out loud. The floors appeared to be marble, as were the cold gray walls, both stretching endlessly before him.

 “Wherever you want to be, I assume,” Moriarty said. “It is your hallucination, remember?”

 Sherlock grinned. “Yes, yes it is.”

 “Well then, let's not be boring.” Moriarty snapped his fingers and John was walking towards them wearing the coat from that night at the swimming pool.

 “This is a turn-up, isn't it?”

 “Stop it, just stop it!”

 “It's your hallucination, Sherlock. The only one who can stop this is you.”

 “Yes, of course, but why would I conjure up this scene? There are dozens of more interesting memories to peruse.”

 “Then find one that is less boring.”

 “For an hallucination, you're very demanding.” The sound of a bell dinging made him turn and he frowned at the lift that was there with open doors. “That isn't part of my mind palace.”

 “Then let's ride it in and see where it leads,” Moriarty said, moving forward and getting into the waiting lift. John followed and finally, with a roll of his eyes, Sherlock got in.

 “I really don't see the point of this.”

 “Of course you don't, Sherlock, because you lack imagination,” John told him. “It's an hallucination, it's not supposed to make sense! Just...have fun with it.”

 “See, even Johnny-Boy gets it!”

 “Do shut up,” Sherlock snapped at Moriarty.

 “Boys, please, not now. “

 “Oh John, ever the peacemaker.”

 A bell dinged as the doors slid open.

 “Well, here you are. I believe this is your floor,” Moriarty told him.

 “But I...I didn't chose a floor. I didn't even know we were moving.” He spun around and saw that he was alone. “Fine, leave. You were both stupid hallucinations anyway.”

 Stepping out of the lift, he found himself in a large hall that showed signs of having been abandoned for a long time. The walls were cracking and chunks of light painted the floor where holes in the roof let the sunshine in.

 “Hello?” He walked further into the room, waiting for something to happen. “Ok, now I'm being ridiculous. This is my hallucination so nothing is going to happen except what I want to happen...except that this is not at all what I wanted to happen. This has to be a place that I know, I just have to think and figure out where it is.”

 Scanning the entire area, his eyes landed on a figure standing against the far wall. It appeared to be female, with long, dark curls hanging down her back. “Jocelyn?”

 “You shouldn't be here.”

 “This is just an hallucination. None of this is real.”

“Leave now Sherlock.”

“Why? Why bring me here and then tell me to leave? Look at me!”

“I never wanted you to see this.”

“See what?”

She turned towards him, and suddenly she was directly in front of him. Her eyes were pure white and unseeing. “You knew, and you let them do this to me. Why did you do this? I thought I could trust you, Sherlock. I thought you understood.”

“No, this isn't real! This is not real, you're just a product of my drugged mind.” He started to back away from her but found himself against a wall.

“Sherlock, be nice,” John said, standing beside him.

“Where the hell did you disappear to? Nevermind, oh god, I'm asking my hallucinations questions.”

“If you don't like it here you can just leave, you know. Take the life to another floor, visit some other place in your mind palace.”

“My mind palace doesn't have a lift!”

“So all of this is a previously unexplored part of your palace then.”

“This is **not** part of my mind palace.”

“Right. Off we go then.”

He and John were back in the lift without having moved. “How do I pick a floor?” he asked, a long finger lingering over all of the buttons. Instead of floor numbers, there was a '?' on every one.

“It doesn't matter what button you push. They all go to the same place.”

“And that would be?”

"Wherever it is you need to go.”

All of the buttons lit up and the doors closed. “No, wait, I'm not ready! Stop, I don't want to go!”

“Then wake up,” John told him with a slight shrug. “That's all you have to do. It is your hallucination, after all.”

“Yes, so you keep saying. What is on all these other floors?”

“Visit and find out.”

“Maybe another time. I want to wake up now.”

“Why? There's so much more to your mind palace that I'm sure you would just love exploring.”

“Mycroft.”

“Did you visit Mummy yet?”

“No. I don't want to do this anymore, I want to wake up.”

“You'll wake up when your transport is free of the drugs. I would think you'd want to explore this section, since you're not likely to get access to it again.”

“The drugs. Of course, these are the ramblings of my mind when I was high. Just like the drugs worked on Jocelyn to make her remember things. The brain has to be in the correct chemical mode to read the data.”

The lift started moving with a jerky motion. “Better hurry up. It would seem that the chemicals are wearing off and once that happens you'll find this area to be once again inaccessible.”

“Perhaps it would be best to leave it that way.” Sherlock backed away from the door. “I've worked too hard to forget about the things that happened when I was using. No, I think I'll skip this visit.”

“Do you really think you have control over anything here?”

The doors of the lift opened and Sherlock was falling down an apparently endless shaft.

* * *

 

John winced as he shifted his body, opening his eyes briefly before closing them against light that was much too bright.

“Sherlock?” he called out, bringing one arm up to shield his eyes from the light. A slightly sweet smell hung in the air as he got up from the sofa he'd been laying on. “Jocelyn?”

Getting no response, he walked towards the kitchen where an unfamiliar mobile was sitting on the counter, along with a handwritten note that said “Play Me”. His hand trembled only slightly as he picked the phone up and pressed the appropriate button to listen to the new voicemail that the display informed him was waiting.

“Johnny-Boy, I guess you've finally awakened. Since you're no doubt confused about what has happened, I'll just tell you. Gas canisters were placed in the house some time ago. I've just been waiting for this moment and when everyone was where I wanted them, all I had to do was trigger the canisters and it was nighty-night for you and Jocelyn. She's fine, by the way, which is more than I can say for her siblings. Don't worry, though, I'm sure big brother has help on the way. Then again, big brother had people watching over his sister and I still managed to steal her away. I guess it really is true, what they say about everyone having a price. Now if you'll excuse me I really must end this. I'll be in touch.”


	9. A Change of Scenery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in getting this up, but real life tends to interfere in plans. I hate posting a part this short, but I was afraid if I didn't get this up now I'd never get it posted and people would think this story was abandoned, which it definitely is not.

He was falling and then he felt the force of the ground hit his body. It took a few seconds to get his eyes open, and a few more to push himself into a sitting position and look around. A faint orange glow was illuminating the area where he and Mycroft were still in the underground facility. He moved sluggishly to check on Mycroft, who was still unconscious.

Sniffing at the air, Sherlock turned towards the source of the orange glow and his eyes opened wider. Flames were licking at the ceiling as he grabbed Mycroft's feet and tried to pull him down the corridor, away from the fire.

"Sodding idiots must have tried to use the lift," he said under his breath, managing to get just about a meter before coughing on all of the smoke.

The sound of voices, their words indistinguishable, reached him seconds before he was surrounded by men in body armour and gas masks.

"We're here to get you both out of here, sir," one of them said, the voice muffled by the mask but still definitely male.

"Who are you?" Sherlock managed to get out.

"Friends, sir."

* * *

"Of course you're not answering," John said aloud as he listened to Sherlock's warning to not be boring when leaving him a message. "Listen, when you get this message you call me immediately."

Before he could contemplate making another call, there was a man standing in the doorway. John recognized him as Harry, the official he'd met when he and Sherlock were brought to Buckingham palace. "Dr. Watson, please, come with me."

"What is it, what's happened? Oh god, please tell me it's not..."

"Mycroft and Sherlock are both fine as far as I know. The right people are in North Wales retrieving them safely."

"Jocelyn's gone."

"I assumed as much. Mycroft did have a plan in place in the event something like this happened. I'm to take you to a safe house."

"What about Jocelyn?"

"I would say not to worry but that would be rather foolish, wouldn't it? There is nothing that we can do here, Doctor Watson, but I can keep you safe while we work on getting her back."

"Moriarty left a phone with a message on it."

"We'll take it with us. Please, Doctor Watson, I – "

"John, please, just call me John."

"John, we need to leave now. There is no doubt that Moriarty has people inside Mycroft's security detail and possibly within the government. This house is no longer safe."

"I'm beginning to think there is no place that is safe."

"I can certainly understand that but we need to go now."

"And why should I trust you?"

"You've got to trust someone, and at the moment I'm the only choice you've got."

* * *

Jocelyn awoke to the smell of disinfectant. The room she found herself in looked sterile and mostly white, like a hospital room. Slowly she got out of the bed she found herself on and went over to the mirror to check out her reflection. The plain white gown only added to the feeling that she was in a hospital. Upon trying the door, however, she found that it was locked.

"Is anybody out there?" she yelled, beating on it with her fists. "Hey, let me out of here!"

The door opened a few seconds later and a surly nurse greeted her. "What is it now?"

"Where am I? And how did I get here?"

"You really don't know where you are?"

"No, I really don't. The last thing I remember is being at home in Stonehaven. Please, just tell me where I am."

"I'll go and get the doctor."

The door was shut and relocked, leaving a confused Jocelyn standing there, staring at it.

* * *

"Leave them," Mycroft whispered, stirring slightly. Sherlock was sitting on a chair beside the hospital bed, leaning forward as soon as he heard his brother's words.

"Mycroft? You need to wake up now."

He opened his eyes slightly, then closed them and brought up a hand to block the light. "Where are we?"

"Military hospital. Your plan worked and they got us out."

"Were you hurt?"

"No, just a few minor scrapes."

"How long as I unconscious?"

"A few hours."

"Any word on Jocelyn or John?"

"No. All I've been told is that there has been no word from the team that was sent to the house." There was a pause before Sherlock hesitantly asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Fine."

"Your mobile was confiscated, as was mine, so there's no way for you to contact your assistant."

"Why do I have an IV?" Mycroft asked, finally noticing it.

"Fluids to help flush Moriarty's drugs from your system. They also put you in a hospital gown, in case you were curious. I've no idea who undressed you." Standing, Sherlock added, "Shall I find the doctor?"

"That would be appreciated. Perhaps then I can get my mobile back."


	10. Off and Running

“Here you are, Mr. Holmes,” a young woman who bore a passing resemblance to Anthea said, breezing into the room with two garment bags which she hung from the back of the door. “They’re still decontaminating your clothes, sorry, but these are--”

“You’re American,” Mycroft said, cutting her off.

“Problem?” she asked.

 “My brother went to get a doctor.”

 “Yes, I know. You’re fine, by the way. The last blood tests came back completely clear.”

 “Who are you?”

 “You can call me Adira.”

 “Is that your real name?”

 “No.”

 “Do you know my PA?”

 “Should I?” She had moved closer to the bed and finally sat in the chair beside it.

 “Ah, Mr. Holmes, so good to...what are _you_ doing in here?”

 Mycroft and Adira both turned to see a man wearing a doctor’s coat come into the room with Sherlock close behind.

 “Just bringing some clothes,” Adira said, standing up. “Feel better soon, Mr. Holmes,” she added before turning and leaving the room.

 “I apologize if she disturbed you…” the doctor started to say, but Mycroft dismissed it with a slight wave of his hand.

 “Hardly. She was just dropping off some clothes while mine are decontaminated.”

 “How are you feeling?”

 “Fine, Doctor…”

 “Sorry, Hawes. Doctor Robert Hawes.”

 “Now that we’re all acquainted perhaps you could tell me where I am.”

 “Swansea. You’re still in Wales.”

 “Is there any news of my sister or Doctor Watson?”

 “I’m sorry but I’ve not heard anything about either of them. I’m only here to discuss the drug that was used on you.”

 “You know what it is?” Sherlock asked.

 “Yes, of course. It’s one of the drugs developed in the 80’s at Baskerville. It works like a hallucinogenic, except that the subject is unconscious. That’s of no importance, of course. What matters is that you will both be perfectly fine with no lasting effects.”

 “You assume that we were both perfectly fine before this happened, a fact which several people would dispute,” Sherlock replied.

“The director is waiting to meet with you so once you’re dressed--”

“Yes, yes, I can dress myself.”

“Someone will escort you to his office when you’re ready.”

The doctor left and Sherlock smirked. “He was much too easy to intimidate. I do hope the rest of the people here are at least slightly challenging.”

“This isn’t a game, Sherlock. We are the ones in custody this time.”

“Get dressed so we can meet whoever is in charge and get out of here. I’m going to see what information I can get out of whoever might be in the hall.”

* * *

 When the door to her room opened again, Jocelyn was sitting on the bed, staring at the wall.

 A man in his 50's entered, wearing a suit. “Hello Miss Holmes,” he greeted her.

 “Sorry, do I know you?”

 “The nurse said you didn't remember anything about how you came to be here. I'm Dr. Tom Hays, your psychiatrist. You've been my patient here for four years.”

 “No, that's not true. I've not been here, I have **never** been here before.”

 “I had hoped that this was a minor relapse but it appears that things are more serious than I thought.”

 “I have not had a relapse!”

 “Tell me, Miss Holmes, to what end would someone go to these lengths if this is all just a ruse?”

 “To get information about my brothers.”

 “And what information would someone want about your brothers?”

 “You tell me, you're the one trying to get it.”

 “Miss Holmes, I assure you that I only wish to treat your mental illness and determine what triggered this episode.”

 “I am not having an episode. I was with my brothers, and somehow you kidnapped me and brought me here....wherever here is. My brothers will find me, I promise you that. They will save me and kick your ass.”

 Dr. Hays raised an eyebrow at her statement. “Clearly your mental defect is--”

 “I am not defective!” she yelled, cutting him off. “There is nothing wrong with me!”

 “Do you really think you are behaving as a sane person would behave? I'll be back later with your medications.”

 Once the door was shut and re-locked, Dr. Hays started down the corridor.

 “Is she going to be too much of a challenge for you?” Moriarty asked, stepping out of an alcove and momentarily startling the doctor.

 “No, not at all. She's stubborn, but with the drugs that you have here I will be able to get the information that you seek.”

 “Because she's defective?”

 “That's what I'm going to convince her of, yes.”

 Without warning Moriarty had the doctor by the throat and pressed him to the tiled wall against his back. “Do not ever call her defective again. Do not even mention the word 'defective' in her presence. Do you understand?”

 “Yes, I understand,” the doctor, taking in a deep breath when Moriarty released him. “May I ask why?”

 “Because,” came the reply as Moriarty walked away, “I said so.”

* * *

“The Queen is just letting us use this place?” John asked as Harry opened the door to a rustic but spacious lodge.

“As I told you when you visited the Palace, she is a big fan of your blog. She's also aware of the role that Mycroft Holmes plays in keeping the Empire running smoothly, and when Mycroft contacted me and told me his fears, I asked Her Majesty if we might use this lodge for a bit. It's remote and no one will be coming here. It's perfect.”

“So, what do we do now?”

“We get settled in, and we wait.”

“For what? And for how long? I'm sorry but I cannot just sit here and do nothing while--”

“Doctor Watson, there is nothing else for us to do. We don't know where Jocelyn is, or where Sherlock and Mycroft are. Right now the best thing we can do is keep you out of the hands of the enemy. We won't be just sitting around doing nothing anyway. There is a secure internet connection here, and I can access the MI6 network.”

“MI6?”

“Yes, we have to assume that the very highest levels of military and national security are involved any time Baskerville is part of the equation.”

“And you have access to MI6?”

“I advise Her Majesty on all matters that impact the Empire. Of course I have access to files that concern the security of British subjects.”

* * *

“The Holmes brothers, how nice to finally meet you both,” the director said, rising up from his chair as Mycroft and Sherlock were shown into the office.

“Aidan Howard, I always wondered which agency you ended up with,” Mycroft said.

“Have we met previously?”

“No, your file just passed my desk briefly, before you were installed here as director obviously.”

“Please, have a seat so we can get started.”

“I'll stand, thanks,” Sherlock replied.

“Forgive my brother. He has no manners.”

“It matters not whether he sits or stands. I need to know what you read in that file, Mycroft. May I call you Mycroft? Mr. Holmes would be too confusing, there being two of you, don't you think?”

“Where are my sister and Doctor Watson?” Mycroft asked.

“I'm afraid we've no idea. By the time agents got to your sister's house in Stonehaven, it was empty. No sign of Doctor Watson or Jocelyn, but no sign of a struggle either. Your sister's car was still there but there were several other sets of tracks from vehicles that came and went within the few hours before our agents arrived. The tracks are being analyzed now.”

“And what is it you hope those tracks will tell you?”

“Honestly, I don't know. Better than doing nothing, though.”

“What are your plans for us?” Sherlock asked. “Clearly you aren't going to just let us walk away.”

“You are needed if we are to find your sister. There is also much that you need to know about what happened to her when she was at North Wales.” The director opened a desk drawer and pulled out a folder. “I believe this is what you found, Mycroft. However, I don't know how much of it you read.”

“Very little of it, I'm afraid.”

“Read it now then.”

“Had time to redact it, did you?”

“It hasn't been redacted at all. I need both of you to help us stop James Moriarty, and to stop him you must know what it is he wants to accomplish. That can only be understood by knowing what was done to your sister.”

“They were experimenting on ways to hide information in her mind for retrieval at a later date,” Sherlock stated. “Moriarty wants whatever that information is.”

“No,” Mycroft said softly. “Dear god no, that is not what they did.” The report closed, the eldest Holmes clutched it to his chest.

“Then what? Mycroft, what is it?”

“They were experimenting on giving someone a whole new _personality_.”

“Did they succeed?”

“Unknown. They hadn't been able to confirm it before the operation was shut down,” the director said.

“Jocelyn has been under the care of a psychiatrist for her bipolar disorder. Surely if there was another personality that would have been discovered.” Mycroft handed the report to Sherlock so his brother might read it. “The other...subjects?”

“Most are dead, all ruled suicides though those deaths are being re-investigated. Other than your sister, we've only been able to locate one other still alive, but he suffered a mental breakdown six months ago and has been in an asylum ever since. There are a few unaccounted for, and we've teams working to locate them.”

“You think Moriarty wants to bring the alter out in Jocelyn? To what end?” Sherlock put the report back down on the desk. “It's unlikely that this alternate personality knows anything of value if Baskerville hadn't even been able to confirm if they were successful.”

“And what might she tell him about her brothers?”

“Joceyn wouldn't--”

“The other personality would, though, and that personality knows everything that Jocelyn knows. So how much does Jocelyn know about the work you do, Mycroft?”

“Not much, really. She knows that I'm not a lowly paper pusher but as for the specifics, she's never really cared. She knows nothing that could threaten the security of the British empire, Mr. Howard.”

“You can call me Aidan, and anything that she knows about you could be a threat in the hands of James Moriarty.”

“Don't you dare threaten my sister's safety,” Mycroft practically growled.

“We must do what we can to ensure the safety of the British people. Her life is not worth more than the lives of millions.”

“She doesn't know anything!”

 “Mycroft,” Sherlock said gently, coming closer to put a hand on his brother's shoulder. “We'll save her, I promise. That's why the director is telling us this, isn't it?” He turned his eyes to Aidan Howard. “You wouldn't be telling us any of this if you didn't want us to find her, would you?”

 “I don't want to see her harmed any more than you do. My assistant will provide you with what you'll need.”

 “You know where she is, don't you?”

 “No, Mycroft, I do not. I trust you two will be able to find her, though.”

 “Find her how?”

 “Everything that was recovered from the old hospital has been brought here. You will be given complete access to all of it, minus any unrelated records, of course.”

 Adira knocked on the door and then came in. “Hello sirs. Whenever you're ready I'll take you to see what was collected from the old facility and get you ready to head out after Moriarty.”

 “And what about Doctor Watson?” Mycroft asked.

 “We'll continue to look for news on him, and will update you when information becomes available,” the director said.

* * *

“Any news?” John asked, joining Harry in a large sitting room.

“Mycroft and Sherlock are still in Wales, at a high level secure facility,” came the reply as Harry scrolled through the screen on his phone. “All settled in then?”

“There are clothes in the closet, all in my size.”

“Mycroft is very thorough in his contingency plans.”

“So what do we do? We're going to get them out, right?”

“They are fine. We need to figure out where Moriarty has taken Jocelyn. Our concern is her safety. The Holmes brothers will be joining us soon enough.”

“How can we possibly find her?”

“John, have more faith, would you? All paths seem to lead to Baskerville so that is where I am beginning our queries.”

“Doctor Stapleton?”

“No, I've gained access to the backups of all the computer records for Baskerville. Far safer than talking to people since we don't know who we can trust.”

“How are Sherlock and Mycroft going to get themselves out?”

“I know someone in MI6 who is currently working at the Swansea facility.”

“So what can I do?”

“You know how Sherlock Holmes thinks. I've got the files on James Moriarty. Help me read through them to find some clue about where he's taken Jocelyn.”


End file.
